


I'll Pay You (to Shoot Him)

by ParadiseAvenger



Category: Nabari no Ou
Genre: Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prostitution, awareness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prostitution Awareness. Yoite had trusted Hattori completely until the night he stopped in the rain and picked up the boy. Miharu, the prostitute who couldn't have been more than fourteen. Then, Yoite's perfect world fell apart. Adult themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Storm of Rain

Please, check out my first ORIGINAL NOVEL! **The Breaking of Poisonwood by Paradise Avenger.** (Summary: People were dead. When Skye Davis bought me at a slave auction as a birthday present for his brother, I had no idea what my new life was going to be like, but I had never expected this. It all started when Venus de Luna was killed and I was to take her place, to become the new savior… Then, bad things happened and some people died. In the heart of the earth, we discovered the ancient being that Frank Davis had found and created and used to his advantage. The Poisonwood—)

…

Inspired by Megan McCauley’s song, “I’ll Pay You to Shoot Him.” It’s an interesting song.

X X X

The first time Hattori picked up the prostitute it was pouring rain and Yoite was sleepily propped against the window in the backseat of the slowly-moving car. Lulled by the rain and exhausted from a long day of work, Yoite didn’t bother to open his eyes when he felt the car stop. He knew that they hadn’t yet arrived at the apartment he shared with his guardian, Yukimi, and didn’t much care why they were stopping. What Hattori did was mostly his business save for when he paraded the orphaned Yoite around in front of the cameras to make his political campaign look better.

There was the sound of the window being rolled down and the patter of rain falling into the car. “How much this time?” Hattori asked.

“Twenty for an hour,” a man’s deep voice said. There was a loud splash and a muted thump followed by a small cry of pain. 

Curious, Yoite cracked open one eye to peer out the window. Hattori had driven into a seedy part of town where the road was deeply rutted and puddled with rainwater. Storefronts with boarded windows and graffiti lined the sidewalk, huddled close like people gathered around a fire in the middle of winter, and interspersed with squat little trailers that looked just as dilapidated. Yards here were brown and overgrown with weeds, barking dogs were caged with chain-link fences, and children’s toys lay strewn behind the barriers. Even though it was raining, a fair amount of scantily-dressed people stood out in the terrible weather. They all wore jealous and mean-spirited smirks, blurred through the rain sliding down the window.

Standing at the driver’s side door, looking in through the open window and speaking with Hattori, was a tall man in his late forties with dark hair. He was standing under an umbrella and his face was mostly cast in shadow so Yoite couldn’t make out his expression save the downward line of his lips. He had a bottle in one hand, half-empty, and was gripping the shoulder of a scrawny boy with the other. The boy must have made that little pathetic sound of pain when his small body collided with the side of the car. He was soaked to the skin, shivering in his shorts and tank top with the straps sliding down over his shoulders. Wet dark hair was plastered to his face, hiding his expression from Yoite’s position in the backseat. 

Hattori must have been able to see the boy’s face clearly because he gripped his chin and angled it. “Anything goes?” he asked the man.

The man snorted, tipping his head back to take a long drink from his bottle. From the expression twisting his lips, it must have been something strong. “Anything you want, just use this.” He passed a jar of Vaseline through the open window to Hattori. “I don’t want him ripped again.”

Hattori’s lips curved into a smirk. “No problem. Took me a while to get the blood off my pants anyway.”

The two men laughed as Hattori handed over a crisp twenty-dollar bill and the man under the umbrella walked the boy around to the passenger side and shoved him into the car. The locks snapped down like a prison, the sound jolting Yoite into opening both eyes. Yoite studied the run-down streets in silence, still leaned against the windows to feign sleepiness, as Hattori drove around the corner and parked. For a moment, the only sound was the rain drumming on the roof.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Hattori said eagerly.

“I… I don’t do double,” came a small voice.

Hattori barked a laugh and shifted in his seat. “Don’t worry,” he said. “He won’t be joining us and that kid sleeps like the dead.”

Yoite’s heart pounded. What was going on? What was Hattori going to do with this boy who couldn’t have been older than Yoite was? (In fact he certainly had to be younger. He looked barely fourteen.) He had an idea, but he didn’t want to believe it. After all, Hattori had taken him in when no one else would and his political campaign was the support of orphans and the protection of children everywhere. It didn’t seem possible that something as corrupt as this was happening.

“Take off your clothes,” Hattori said to the boy in the passenger seat. He reached under his own seat, pulling the handle that allowed the seat to slide back, and gave himself as much room as possible. “And climb over here.”

Keeping his eyes closed, Yoite suddenly wished he had truly fallen asleep. He didn’t want to hear this! But the sounds cut easily through the rainfall as if to spite Yoite and his naïve belief that he could ignore what was happening right in front of him. He could hear every word, every rustle of fabric, every slap of skin on skin, every little whimper and moan and dirty disgusting word. He could hear everything. And even though it was like a terrible accident that he didn’t want to see, his eyes cracked open and he just couldn’t help but watch as well.

Hattori’s fingers squelched loudly in the jar of lubricant and the boy yelped softly when the man’s thick fingers pressed to his core. All Yoite could see of the boy was the curve of his white knuckles on the back of Hattori’s seat and the trembling of his pale shoulders peppered with bruises. He made another soft sound as Hattori began to pump his fingers in and out of his small body, stretching the tight muscles lazily.

“Stop whimpering like a virgin,” Hattori told the boy icily. “We both know this isn’t your first time. Now, act like a proper whore and moan for me. Say my name.”

“M-Master Tojuro,” the boy gasped out. His voice was still thin and weak-sounding so Hattori pushed his fingers in deeper, raking them over the bundle of nerves deep inside. A breathy little moan escaped the boy’s mouth and Yoite glimpsed the curve of his jaw and the side of his face as his back arched. “Master Tojuro, that feels so good,” he said and his voice was as smooth and sultry as silk.

Hattori pressed his mouth over the white column of the boy’s throat, suckling noisily. He must have been doing something wonderful with his fingers because the boy began to moan in earnest—or at least what sounded earnest to Yoite. His fingers continued to tremble, curled in a white-knuckled grip on the back of the seat.

“Please,” the boy purred. “I want it. I want you, Master Tojuro, inside me.”

Hattori groaned. “You know how to turn Daddy on, don’t you?”

The boy only gasped again, softer and breathlessly, with another muted cry of pain stifled just beneath the façade of pleasure. His bruised shoulders trembled, shivering with wet and cold. Yoite glimpsed the flash of his slender hip, also marked with a small dark bruise, and heard the deep squishing sound of Hattori’s fingers moving within the boy. Yoite almost screamed when Hattori obviously added another finger and the boy yelped out again only to be harshly reminded that he was a whore and to act like one, but managed to continue to feign sleep.

“How badly do you want me?” Hattori crooned, his tongue lapping wetly at the lobe of the boy’s ear. “Tell me.” 

“B-bad,” the boy whispered, but a sparkling tear slipped down his cheek followed by a ragged sob.

“I won’t tell you again,” Hattori snarled, shaking the boy firmly. Yoite heard the thump of the boy’s back colliding painfully with the steering wheel, sandwiched as he was between it and Hattori’s chest. “You’re a prostitute. Your body is mine and I’m paying for this time. You’d better give me exactly what I want or it’s going to end badly for you, just like last time.”

The boy whimpered again, but pried his trembling fingers from the back of the seat to wipe the few tears from his face. He sucked in a sharp deep breath, schooled his features into a mask of pleasure, and dipped down to kiss Hattori full on the mouth. 

“Master Tojuro,” the boy purred. “I want it so much, so badly. Please, put it in. Put it inside my body.”

“That’s more like it,” Hattori moaned into the boy’s mouth. 

He pulled his fingers out and must have tried to thrust into the boy’s small body with no further preparation because the boy was suddenly pushing him back. Fear made his wrists tremble, but his lips still pulled a sultry smile as he wagged his finger at the older man. He managed to find the still-open jar of lubricant somewhere in the car and brandished it like a shield. 

“Now, now,” the boy scolded silkily, still managing to keep the fear from his voice and expression but not his hands. “You want me to enjoy it, too, don’t you? I thought you cared about me, Master Tojuro.”

“I do,” the man moaned. He watched with rapt fixation as the boy scooped his fingers into the jar of lubricant and began to stroke Hattori’s erection. “Hurry.”

But for a long moment, the boy appeared to play for time to postpone the inevitable or maybe he was trying to finish Hattori with his hand alone so he wouldn’t have to use his body. Hattori grew impatient and pulled the boy’s hand away, pinning his wrists to the steering wheel with one hand and fumbling for entrance. He must have found his mark and pushed in because he began to moan loudly and the boy’s eyes squeezed shut with discomfort or maybe pain. 

“Master Tojuro, you’re so big,” he purred, but his voice cracked with pain. A little cross between a whimper and a moan escape the boy’s lips. “You’re bigger than anyone. Please… just give me a minute to get used to it—”

But Hattori didn’t listen to the sultry plea. He began to thrust hard, his hips slapping noisily against the boy’s bottom coupled with a vulgar squishing noise. His seat rocked and bounced with the force of his arousal as he pounded away into the boy’s thin body. So much of Hattori’s large form hid the naked boy from Yoite’s view that all he could see was the pale length of the boy’s arms pulled above his head and his thin fingers curled into fists above the painful grip of Hattori’s hand. 

The boy occasionally mewled softly with pleasure, but the breath rushed from his lungs with each hard thrust and it didn’t seem like he could possibly be enjoying this. He must be ‘acting like a whore,’ like Hattori had threatened. Hattori’s pleasured grunts filled the silence, drowning out even the rataplan of the rain. Only the boy’s small voice broke through occasionally, urging ‘Master Tojuro’ to take him harder or deeper or faster or to tell him how good it felt. 

After what felt like an eternity to Yoite, Hattori finally finished with a long sigh of bliss. His back rippled as he emptied himself within the boy’s small body and pulled out. 

Yoite was far from naïve about the relations between men and women (or men and men, or women and women). He knew sex between partners was supposed to be kind. It was supposed to be based on trust and love or else passion at the very least. There should have been some level of care between even a prostitute and the one who had purchased the time. Yoite was half-expecting Hattori to give the boy a little kind gesture—a soft kiss or whisper of how nice it had been—but instead, Hattori discarded every illusion of such care completely now that he had gotten what he wanted.

He threw the boy hard into the passenger seat, so hard that the boy’s head cracked painfully against the glass. For a moment, Yoite glimpsed green eyes before the boy doubled over to clutch the back of his head, whimpering quietly. Still, Hattori showed him no kindness and gripped the boy by his dark hair, dragging him forward and forcing the boy to use his mouth to clean up the remains of their sex from Hattori’s flaccid member. When he finished, coughing quietly, Hattori threw him aside again like a child who had broken a toy and was finished playing with it.

Still terribly naked and exposed, the boy lay crumpled in the passenger seat with his legs drawn to his thin chest and his arms wrapped around them. Bruises were already developing on his pale wrists from the force of Hattori’s grip. Through a veil of dark damp hair, green eyes stared right into Yoite’s own and he realized he had been caught. With a wry little self-deprecating smile, the boy shivered and turned back towards the window without saying anything to give Yoite away.

“That only took half an hour,” Hattori muttered to himself. “Maybe I should wait a little longer and fuck you again.”

Through his lashes, Yoite saw the green-eyed boy tremble in the passenger seat and draw his thin limbs closer to his body as a meager shelter. His bare skin was painful to look at, peppered with bruises as it was, and the shine of semen and lubricant glistened between his legs. He had been thoroughly used by Hattori and probably many others yet there was no apparent end in sight for him. The day was long and the night was longer.

“I suppose not,” Hattori said with a deep sigh. “I’ve got to get the kid back to Yukimi before I have to hear about it.” He reached across the space between the seats and gripped the boy’s chin firmly, pulling his face forward from the shelter of his folded arms. “You lucked out this time, but next time I’ll spend the whole hour with you.” He slammed the boy backwards when he finished speaking and turned his attention back to the rain-soaked road.

The drive back to the seedy corner where Hattori had bought the boy from the man under the umbrella was a short one. The rain was beginning to ebb, pattering softly on the roof of the car in a soothing way. Hattori rolled down the window and called a short, ‘Hey!’ to the man. Slowly, drinking contentedly from a fresh bottle, the man approached.

“Finished so soon?” he asked and looked at his watch. “You still have more than twenty minutes.”

“I have to get going,” Hattori said and jerked his thumb at Yoite slumbering in the backseat. 

The man under the umbrella barked a long laugh. “You’ve got kids of your own and you still come here to buy my little slut.”

Hattori joined him in laughing and it made Yoite’s heart skip a beat.

The boy was still naked, though trying to redress in his soaked clothes, when the man under the umbrella circled the car to open the passenger door and pulled him out into the rain. The boy yelped, his entire body exposed to the cold rain and hard pavement. Hattori grabbed the jar of lubricant and tossed it to the man who caught it nimbly despite being apparently drunk.

“He was good, better than last time,” Hattori said. “Keep the change.”

Yoite mimed waking up as they pulled away from the seedy block. He glanced out the window, taking a good look at the green-eyed boy as he was dragged back to the corner and made to stand in the cold drizzle completely naked. His body was so thin, so slender, and marked with endless signs of use.

“Where are we? What are we doing here?” Yoite asked, not certain what kind of answer he was hoping for. Did he want the truth that was so obvious after what he had witness? Did he want Hattori to lie to him and continue the charade of a kind man? Or did he still hope there was a reason for all of this, some politically adult idea that he could neither see nor understand? “What’s going on?”

“Did you have a nice nap?” Hattori asked him kindly. “You can sleep through a brass band, can’t you?”

Yoite nodded, hoping his expression didn’t betray him. “Where are we?”

“The ghetto,” Hattori said without a moment of hesitation. “This is where all the whores sell their bodies to greedy perverts. When I’m elected to office, I’ll take steps to clean all this up and get the poor children off the streets.”

Yoite’s blood ran cold when he heard Hattori’s potent and obvious lie. Suddenly, he had no idea what to think.

…

“I’m back,” Yoite called as he toed off his wet shoes in the doorway and entered the small apartment he shared with his guardian, Yukimi. 

The apartment was a wreck with books, papers, dishes, and clothes scattered everywhere. Yukimi was a writer and he often had to write multiple articles for several different magazines and newspapers all due by the same deadline. Yoite could always tell how hard Yukimi was working, how many articles were due, and when the deadline was by how messy the apartment was. This indoor tornado read that Yukimi had a lot to do, but still had a fair amount of time left to do it.

Yoite gathered up some dishes as he made his way through the apartment. “Yukimi? I’m back,” he called again.

Yukimi’s head poked around the threshold of the kitchen, soda and sandwich in hand. “Hey, Yoite. It’s about time Hattori got you back. I was just about to call him. Did you eat? Are you hungry?”

“Which of those would you like me to answer first?” Yoite jokingly despite himself and deposited the gathered dishes in the sink. “I’m not hungry.”

“Get a lot done on the campaign today?” Yukimi asked.

Yoite froze reaching for the fridge, but quickly pulled out a soda to hide his reaction. “Yeah, sure,” he said.

Yukimi nodded, leaning against the counter to show that he was giving Yoite his full attention and biting into his sandwich.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Whatever,” Yukimi said. “What’s on your mind?”

Yoite flushed, still surprised by how easily Yukimi could read him. Thankfully, he couldn’t read him well enough to know exactly what was bothering Yoite. “Do you think prostitution is a bad thing?”

Yukimi took a long moment chewing and swallowing and then taking a drink. “I’ve heard it’s one of the oldest professions in the world, right up there with blacksmith and baker. People have always been selling things and their bodies are something they’ve always had. It’s easy to see why it happens.”

“But do you think it’s okay?”

Yukimi eyed him curiously. “You’re not thinking of running away and turning tricks, are you?”

Yoite slid him a narrow-eyed glare. “No, of course not.”

“Just checking,” Yukimi chuckled. Then, he took a sip of soda and continued, “I wish I had something better to tell you, Yoite, but I really don’t. I’m on the fence about it. I think prostitution should be legal so that it can be regulated and we wouldn’t have women being raped or murdered and so that their pimps couldn’t take their money in exchange for ‘protection.’” Yukimi made some finger quotations and a disgusted face. “But on the other hand, I wish women didn’t have to sell themselves for money. I wish we lived in a world where that didn’t have to happen.”

“And what about children?” Yoite ventured.

Yukimi’s expression soured. “I know there are some real sickos out there that are into children. But I think it’s wrong under any circumstances for a child to have to sell their body, even if they seem to have a good reason in the fine print,” he said vehemently. “I hate seeing kids on the street, getting screwed by the world.”

“Is that why you joined Hattori’s campaign and agreed to take me in?” Yoite asked.

Yukimi sighed and pulled Yoite into a one-armed hug. “You could say that,” was all he said.

…

The second time Hattori picked up the green-eyed prostitute with Yoite pretending to sleep in the backseat, it was almost midnight. The night was clear and lit brightly with moonlight. The boy was standing alone on the corner of the seedy block, but he kept looking around as if someone stood in the shadows with a gun trained on him if he dared leave. It was very clear that he didn’t want to be there, but had to be for whatever reason.

Hattori pulled up to a stop a few feet away from him and rolled down the window. “Come over here,” he called to the boy.

Yoite watched through the curtain of his half-closed lashes as the boy approached the car. He kept glancing back over his skinny bare shoulder, the moonlight shining on the pale flesh. He appeared to be wearing the same too-short shorts and pale tank top as the previous time, but Yoite wasn’t certain because he hadn’t paid much attention about the boy’s clothes before. He had been too shocked by Hattori’s corrupted activities. Now, all he could say for sure was that the boy had been severely beaten.

As he approached the car from the shadowed wall he had been leaning against, he walked with a terrible limp. One of the boy’s eyes was darkly bruised, bloodshot, and swollen. His lower lip was badly split and his tongue occasionally ghosted over it as he spoke softly to Hattori. Bruises circled his wrists and ankles like shackles and more of the same probably lurked beneath his tight clothes. The injuries all appeared a few days old and were beginning to show signs of healing, but that didn’t make them look any less painful.

“How much tonight?” Hattori asked.

The boy glanced into the backseat and then over his shoulder again. “Forty for an hour and that’s just for you,” the boy said firmly.

Hattori chuckled, grasping the boy’s chin and pressing his thumb down on the split in his lip. “Your last double didn’t end so well, did it? Did they rape you?”

The boy pulled sharply away, his green eyes narrowing yet fear showed through on his face.

Hattori smirked, obviously knowing that what he had said was true.

“Make it sixty for an hour,” the boy said bitterly.

Hattori snared him by his wrist, digging his grip in until the boy cried out. “Forty for an hour and I won’t be too rough with you.” He smirked broadly like the cat that had finally caught the tasty canary and was looking forward to feasting. “Unless you’d like to be raped again.”

The boy tried to pull away, but Hattori’s grip was too tight. “Fine,” he hissed.

“Get in and then I’ll pay you,” Hattori said and released the boy’s wrist.

The boy circled the car, climbed in, and pulled the door shut with a bang. Hattori pressed two twenties into his hand and watched the boy count them before folding them and stuffing them into the pocket of his shorts. The drive was silent as Hattori pulled around the corner out of the sight of the other distantly-positioned young men and women peddling their bodies. He put the car in park but left the engine running so the interior lights wouldn’t drain the battery. 

“Take off your clothes,” Hattori said to the boy and watched him with greedy eyes as he stripped. 

As Yoite had suspected when he saw the boy’s beaten face and Hattori had apparently somehow known, the boy’s body was peppered with more painful bruises beneath his clothes. Someone had even bitten the curve of his hip, leaving a hideous red rose circled by the thorns of teeth, and his collarbones were marked with plentiful bouquets of hickeys. Whatever had happened to him—if he had been raped like Hattori had suggested—it had been brutal.

When the green-eyed boy saw Hattori watching him so closely, he lifted his hands to cover the many marks at his throat. Once he had laid his thin hands over the hickeys, he paled as he looked down at his body and realized there was so much else he wanted to cover but didn’t have enough hands. “What?” he snapped at Hattori.

The older man grinned, clearly amused by the boy’s reaction. “Nothing,” he said. “Now, point your ass over here. I’ll play with you a little before I take you. Did your old man give you lubricant?”

The boy searched the pockets of his discarded clothing and then shook his head, stricken.

“Guess I get to enjoy you dry,” Hattori said. There was a cruel edge in his voice that made Yoite’s blood run cold.

The boy shuddered, having heard it as well. His green eyes darted throughout the car as if seeking an escape route, but they lit on Yoite for an instant. When he realized Yoite was feigning sleep just as he had the previous time, relief flashed across his features. But Yoite quickly closed his eyes and redoubled his illusion of sleep. Recognizing that Yoite wasn’t going to help him, the boy had no choice but to do as Hattori demanded. His thin arms trembled, fingers knotting into fists, as he draped his vulnerable body into Hattori’s lap.

Hattori pressed his fingers against the boy’s lips. “Lick them,” he ordered. “You know how it will feel if you don’t.”

The boy’s lips parted and the sloppy wet sound was horrible as he soaked Hattori’s fingers with saliva. Yoite saw the man’s wrist begin to move and heard the boy gag quietly as Hattori started to deliberately thrust into the boy’s mouth. It seemed to go on for a long time—the terrible sucking sounds, the soft choking, and Hattori’s occasional chuckle.

“That’s enough,” Hattori said abruptly and pulled his glistening hand away. He went immediately between the boy’s legs before the meager wetness dried and pushed two fingers in without further preparation.

The boy cried out quietly, his back arched in pain, and he did his best to stifle the little noises that escaped his lips. His shoulders trembled as Hattori’s fingers quickly stretched and spread his most violated place, pushing in deeper to scrape a place inside him that he wished didn’t exist.

“What a vulgar body,” Hattori whispered against the shell of the boy’s ear. “How many days have passed since you were raped? You’re still so tight.”

The boy’s thin fingers tightened, veins standing out with effort.

Hattori pressed on the little bundle of nerves inside the boy’s body, grinning widely. “Do you like how that feels?”

“N-no,” the boy whimpered out.

The blow was sudden and loud in the silence of the car. With a soft cry, the boy cupped a hand to his stinging cheek, his battered eye welling with tears at the pain. Yoite was so startled that he almost lurched up and gave himself away. Instead, he mumbled softly and shifted in the backseat to hide his reaction. 

“Quiet now,” Hattori purred, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the bruise on the boy’s face with the threat of further pain. “You don’t want to wake up our Sleeping Beauty, do you? Now, be a good little whore and tell me what I want to hear. It’s not often I feel like sharing pleasure.”

“Y-you don’t have to,” the boy whispered. “I’m here to please you so—”

Hattori hushed him, smirking. “Now, now… There’s no need to thank me. Just enjoy it for now.”

The boy bit the corner of his mouth. “Y-yes, Master Tojuro… thank you…”

Hattori pressed a wet kiss to the boy’s throat, nipping and sucking lightly. “That’s right.”

His wrist and arm began to move again and that was really all Yoite could see from his position in the backseat. But he could see the boy’s thin shoulders convulsing and he could hear all the demeaning things Hattori said as he forced the boy to feel pleasure when he obviously didn’t want to. Yoite would never know for certain, but he had an idea that being forced to enjoy this was almost worse than being raped. He wished he was brave enough to do something to interfere, but even if he had been, he had no idea what to do.

“Look how honest your body is,” Hattori was saying to the boy. “Your little prick is getting hard. Does it feel good to be fucked by my fingers?”

With no other choice, the boy whispered, “Yes, Master Tojuro. It feels so good.”

Hattori wrapped his free hand around the boy’s small erection, sliding his fingers up and down the sides and rubbing his thumb over the weeping tip. “You’re getting wet here, like a woman would.”

The boy panted softly, his eyes squeezing shut. An attractive flush was crawling up the pale column of his neck and sweat stood out at his temples. “I know,” he gasped quietly. “I’m so… sinful.”

The man chuckled. “You are. Do you want me to enter you?”

“P-please, Master Tojuro, fill me up with your—” the boy yelped suddenly, his shoulders curling in and spasming violently. His lips parted and a little keening moan escaped him, his head tipping back and eyes rolling slightly.

“Do you like that? I’m massaging your prostate in time with your little cock,” Hattori said teasingly. “Your usual customers—those pigs—and your old man probably never bother to give you such intense pleasure. How is it to be with such a kind man?”

The boy’s back arched into what seemed like an impossible shape and he cried out loudly, unable to stifle the sounds any longer.

“Someone as young as you wouldn’t be able to resist this much pleasure,” Hattori continued. “Go on. Scream my name. Let me hear you.”

The green-eyed boy had no real choice or even a small chance to resist. Hattori pumped him faster and increased the pressure on that secret place inside his body. He trembled, little moans and whimpers escaping his lips unchecked. When Hattori dipped his head to lavish a little attention on the boy’s pale nipples—licking and biting them each in turn—he came violently. Hattori had cupped his hand over the tip of the boy’s erection so that no semen escaped to make a mess in the car and he now lifted it to the panting boy’s face.

“Look how much you came,” he taunted. “You really enjoyed that, didn’t you, you little slut?”

The boy flushed deeply with shame and gripped the lapels of Hattori’s suit. “Don’t you want to fill me, Master Tojuro?” he asked, but the confidence was stolen from his words by the weak little tremor leftover from his orgasm. “I’m waiting.”

Hattori palmed the boy’s behind, smearing the spent semen against his entrance as make-shift lubricant. Then, he freed himself from the confines of his pants and slammed into the boy’s small body. The boy forced himself to moan, but the downward twist of his lips betrayed him. Thankfully, Hattori was beyond caring and simply pounded away. When he finished, spilling into the boy’s body, a harsh breath of relief escaped the green-eyed whore. Hattori appeared to consider striking him, his hand raised in a threatening manner, but the boy’s terrified flinch placated him.

“Good boy,” Hattori crooned. Then, he moved to cast the boy into the passenger seat.

Yoite wasn’t sure what exactly happened in that moment because he had closed his eyes completely so as not to see the boy’s painful nudity, but suddenly the boy’s body slammed down hard in the backseat beside Yoite. Hattori cursed and Yoite jumped, startled from his illusion of sleep. For a moment, silence reigned thick and heavy in the air.

“What’s going on?” Yoite asked finally and hoped his voice sounded sleepy.

Hattori managed to answer him quickly. “I picked this boy up on the street. We’re giving him a lift home since this is such a bad neighborhood.”

Yoite glanced at the boy crumpled beside him on the seat, naked and shivering with the signs of his body’s use dripping down his inner thighs. He realized this was the perfect moment to confront Hattori with his corrupt activities. “Why is he naked?” he asked.

Hattori didn’t have an answer readily-prepared for that question and silence stretched like a rubber band between them. When it reached its breaking point, Hattori would either have to answer and admit his crimes or else he’d have thought of a politician’s segue from the uncomfortable topic.

Much to Yoite’s chagrin, it was the green-eyed boy who gave Hattori an excuse. “Some thugs were just about to rape me,” he said quietly. “He stopped to help me. He’s—” the boy faltered, betraying his outward calm “—a kind man.”

For a moment, Yoite didn’t understand what on earth had prompted the boy to come to the aid of a man who was practically raping him even if he was paying the boy. His mouth gaped open as he stared at the naked figure curled up beside him.

Then, the boy continued and Yoite understood. “He was going to give me some money so I could go to the clinic,” he said with tears in his voice. “I was so afraid and then this nice man came and saved me.”

Needing to keep up appearances in front of Yoite, Hattori had no choice but to follow what the boy said. He forced a smile and said, “Of course.” Then, he pulled out his wallet, leafed off two more twenties, grabbed the boy’s discarded clothes from the passenger seat, and handed both to him. 

“Thanks for driving me home,” the boy said as he accepted these things. He pulled on his tank top and shorts, smoothing back his dark hair with as much casual calm as he could muster. He ghosted his hands over his pale bare thighs, rubbing his bruised and swollen knees nervously.

“My name is Yoite,” he offered lamely to break the endless silence. “What’s yours?”

The boy glanced over at him sharply, his green eyes wide with shock. It looked as if he was trying to remember the last time someone had asked him his name and with the profession he was in, Yoite wondered that too.

Hattori angled the mirror so he could look at them in the backseat. “Go ahead and tell him,” he said.

The boy jolted and a tremor ran through his bare shoulders, goose bumps rising on his naked skin. He turned quickly back to Yoite and said in a voice soft enough that Hattori wouldn’t be able to easily hear him, “Miharu. I’m Miharu.” Then, he shivered again and his teeth chattered quietly.

“Are you cold?” Yoite asked kindly. The night was deep and cool and the boy was barely dressed.

Miharu nodded slightly and slid across the seat to press close against Yoite’s side. For a moment, Yoite froze, uncertain of the young prostitute’s intentions for moving so close, but Miharu didn’t make any sexual advances. In fact, he merely cuddled close to soak up Yoite’s body heat. At least, that was how it seemed until he felt Miharu’s hand press insistently against his arm and he heard the crinkle of paper. When he glanced down, he saw that Miharu was offering him the two twenties Hattori had just given him. 

“What are you doing?” Yoite whispered.

“I’ll pay you,” the boy whispered. Miharu crumpled closer against Yoite’s side, shivering faintly like a bird that had fallen from the nest, and Yoite could feel the chill of his body seeping through his clothes. The bills in Miharu’s hand crinkled against Yoite’s thick sweatshirt sleeve.

“Pay me?” Yoite choked out.

“I’ll pay you,” Miharu repeated, “to shoot him.”

Yoite’s blood froze in his veins and he stared at the boy with wide eyes. “W-what?” he gasped.

But then Hattori was speaking to Miharu, asking him where he lived, and the boy turned away from Yoite to direct Hattori. The only sign that he had ever asked for such a thing were the bills that still peeked out between his clenched fingers. Finished directing Hattori, Miharu sat back and spoke to Yoite from the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll pay you more than this,” he said. “Just shoot him.” His voice softened with pain and fear. “You don’t know what he does to me,” he whispered so quietly that Yoite barely heard him. 

“You want to kill Hattori?” Yoite choked out.

Miharu glanced at him and appeared about to answer him when Hattori pulled the car to a stop in front of a dilapidated little trailer painted pale vomit-inducing green. Without another word, the boy got out of the car and practically ran to the front door. He disappeared inside and Hattori cursed quietly. Yoite stared at the trailer as Hattori drove away, memorizing everything he could and trying to find a house number or street sign so he could find it again.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review, please! Tell me how interested everyone is in a Yoite/Miharu pairing. Or if this should just be a friendship story.


	2. Lightning Luck

Wow! Was the last chapter long or what? Holy word count, Batman!

Thanks to **ButterToast** for reviewing and giving me some opinions. (I could still use some more.)

X X X

“Yukimi, where are you keeping the gun you bought for home defense?” Yoite asked abruptly after dinner one night.

Yukimi had been working on an article whose deadline had snuck up on him at his computer, but he rolled his chair back sharply to peer around the corner at his young charge. For a moment, he didn’t speak and tried to process the question. Yoite had been asking him a lot of strange questions lately. They had basically been moral and legal questions about prostitution and Yukimi just assumed it was Hattori’s campaign rubbing off on the kid. But this question demanded his full attention so he turned away from his article.

“Why do you ask, Yoite?” Yukimi queried. 

Yoite rolled his shoulders noncommittally. “Just curious,” he said.

Eyes narrowed, Yukimi rose from his chair to sit beside the kid on the couch. He grabbed the remote and shut off Hattori’s latest political speech, monopolizing Yoite’s attention. “You’ve been asking me a lot of strange questions lately,” Yukimi continued. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

Yoite shook his head.

“Are you in some trouble?” Yukimi asked. “Maybe at school? Or peer pressure got to you? Have you started doing drugs?”

“No,” Yoite assured him.

“Are you thinking about running away and becoming a hooker?”

Yoite slid him a look. “No.”

Yukimi studied Yoite for a long moment, taking in the long scar on the side of the kid’s pale throat. It was an old injury, hideous and badly-scarred. “Maybe… have your parents come back into your life? Are they trying to get you to come back?”

Yoite shook his head, laying his hand over Yukimi’s. “No,” he said, “but even if they did, I wouldn’t go back.”

“Good,” Yukimi said softly, but then the silence spread comfortably between them. Yukimi didn’t know what else to ask so he settled for, “Then what’s on your mind, Yoite?”

For a long moment, Yoite was quiet before he asked his guardian, “Do you think it’s ever okay to kill someone?”

Yukimi gazed at him and then said, “I’m guessing this isn’t about cut-and-dry self-defense, is it?”

Yoite shook his head.

Yukimi heaved in a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering. “I’d like to tell you ‘no.’ I’d like to tell you that killing is wrong so matter the circumstances, except in self-defense, but I’m not that naïve. I do believe that some people deserve to be killed depending on the circumstances—like if justice isn’t going to be served or revenge needs to be taken. Killing should be a last resort.” He paused a moment, thinking. “And it’s never alright to just blow away someone walking down the street who has never done wrong to you.”

Yoite smiled faintly. “I know that, but…” He halted, chewing his lower lip. Should he tell Yukimi about Hattori and the green-eyed boy? But no… Yukimi loved Hattori and loved his campaign. Yoite didn’t want to ruin that for his kind guardian. “Thanks,” he said instead. “I was just curious.”

Yukimi eyed him, but didn’t press him further for details. He sighed heavily, rubbed the back of his neck, rose from the couch, and returned to his article. It was difficult to focus with Yoite’s questions turning the wheels in his head, but he forced himself to finish the article before his editor came barreling up his ass like a freight train.

…

The next day was Sunday so Yoite was free from school and campaigning alike. He had spent most of yesterday trying to decide what to do about the situation swirling around him and hadn’t really come to any conclusions that he liked. Instead, he planned to just meet with Miharu and talk to him a little more. Maybe there was something else that could be done.

With Yoite being sixteen, Yukimi often pestered him about going out on the town and acting like a kid, but Yoite never did. Needless to say, Yukimi practically jumped for joy when Yoite asked to borrow the car and meet a friend. Yukimi was many things—kind and understanding being his best traits, loud and brash being his worst—but he had never planned on having kids and his own parents had been rather absent throughout his childhood so he was rather lax as a guardian. He handed over the keys and told Yoite to call if he was going to be really late. 

Then, he turned back to his computer as if he didn’t have three deadlines breathing down his neck, but Yoite smiled when he saw Yukimi’s fingers fumble their way through several sentences. Yukimi was practically dying to ask Yoite about his friend and where they planned to go, but he wasn’t going to. He allowed Yoite his privacy, content with the knowledge that Yoite would come to him if he needed something. 

“Yukimi,” Yoite ventured.

The young man turned in his chair to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Thanks,” was all he said.

Yukimi smiled. “No problem, kid.”

Then, Yoite grabbed his coat and umbrella because it looked like rain and headed out. He had printed a small map of the seedier section of town where he thought Hattori had picked up the green-eyed prostitute and where Miharu’s little house was. He had circled several probable corners and scribbled the address of the house in its general area on the map. Just in case he got himself into some trouble, he also had a small sharp pocketknife and some money on him. So armed, he climbed behind the wheel and started the car.

It had started raining when Yoite found his way to the little trailer Miharu had Hattori drop him off at. He hurried through the downpour beneath his umbrella and rapped on the door. The wood was splintered badly and crumbled under Yoite’s knuckles. He knocked again, louder, but still no one answer. He stepped into the overgrown bush beside the front door and peeked in through the window. There was a man sleeping on the ratty couch inside with countless bottles of beer scattered around him. Yoite couldn’t be sure if it was the same man he had seen selling Miharu, acting as his pimp, but he figured it was likely.

Yoite scurried back to the car and scrutinized his map. Then, he drove cautiously through the slanting rain to the corner where Hattori had picked up Miharu both previous times. Yoite didn’t see Miharu when he drove past the first time so he double-parked in front of an out-of-business shop’s overhang where several young women were huddled out of the rain. 

One of the women inhaled a deep drag on her cigarette and pointed her breasts in his direction. “Hi handsome,” she purred. “Can I get you something?”

“Hi,” Yoite said and hoped his nervousness wasn’t betrayed by his voice. “I’m looking for a boy. He said his name was Miharu.”

The girl’s expression soured. She abruptly dropped her cigarette and ground it out beneath her high-heeled boot. “That little shit takes all our custom,” she snarled. “Men don’t want to do a real woman when they can fuck a little boy.”

The two other young women standing at her elbows nodded in agreement, murmuring quietly.

“Listen,” Yoite interrupted politely. “I just want to know if you’ve seen him.”

The two girls at the back shook their heads, but the lead girl narrowed her eyes. “He’s the competition so he’s certainly none of our concern,” she snapped. “He’s nobody’s concern. He’s just a little shit.” She looked away, her fingers ghosting over the top of her thigh beneath her short denim skirt. There was a scar there, long and jagged, and then she whispered bitterly, “Always crying about how he’s being raped… little shit…”

Over the patter of the rain on his umbrella, Yoite heard the sharp squeal of wet tires and a voice cry out at his back. He turned quickly away from the female hooker and saw Miharu stumble naked from the passenger seat of a car. The boy went down in a shallow puddle, his clothes falling from his arms. The three girls made strange sounds—laughter mixed with pain and concern—but Yoite ignored them. He hurried through the rain to Miharu’s side, crouching on the wet pavement.

“Miharu?” Yoite asked, reaching out to touch the boy’s bare shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Miharu shouted and threw himself away from Yoite. The rain slid over his naked skin, washing across his bruises and over the many dips of his ribs. “Don’t touch me!”

Yoite withdrew his hands, watching with a broken heart as Miharu redressed himself in a state of desperation. He grabbed the soaked bills and stuffed them into his pocket, rising quickly to his feet and putting a few steps between himself and Yoite. He was a shivering mess in the rain, wet hair plastered to his face and clothes clinging to his terribly thin form. Then, Miharu schooled his face into a mask of seduction that didn’t quite hide his surprise.

“It’s you,” he said as he rested his hands on his hips. “Finally come for a taste?”

Yoite shook his head. “No, I’m… I wanted to talk to you about what you said before.”

Miharu’s eyes narrowed and he stepped cautiously beneath the shelter of Yoite’s umbrella. “Do you have a gun?”

Yoite shook his head, but continued before Miharu could walk away. “I want to talk. Can we go somewhere? To get out of the rain?”

Miharu glanced over his shoulder at the three girls huddled together under the overhang. The lead girl gave him the finger, her lips pulled back in a sneer that was only half-cruel. “What did you have in mind?” he asked Yoite.

“I have a car,” Yoite said lamely. “I could drive us somewhere. Maybe we could get something to eat.”

Miharu’s lips pulled in a shade of a smile, but there was mistrust in his eyes. “Sure,” he said slowly and followed Yoite to the car still double-parked at the curb.

Yoite pulled away from the seedy corner and drove to a small hole-in-the-wall diner nearby. He came occasionally with Yukimi for their killer burgers and oversized milkshakes and he really couldn’t think of any other place to take Miharu. He wanted it to be someplace public so the boy wouldn’t think he was about to get jumped, but not so public that Yoite would run into anyone he knew. He asked for a booth in the corner and slid in, watching Miharu shiver wetly in the air-conditioning. 

Yoite plucked at his sweatshirt, eyeing Miharu with concern. “Do you want my jacket?” he asked finally. 

Miharu smiled sweetly. “You’re nice,” he said, but then his green eyes narrowed. “You’re Hattori’s kid, aren’t you? So what are you doing here with me?”

Yoite chewed his lip, but was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the waitress. “Do you want something?” he asked Miharu.

The boy looked genuinely shocked and didn’t answer so Yoite just ordered hot chocolate for both of them.

“Why do you want to kill Hattori?” Yoite asked.

Miharu rolled his shoulders. “He’s a hypocrite, but he’s not the one I want dead.”

“Who is?” 

“My old man.” (1)

“Your father?” Yoite asked.

Miharu shrugged, noncommittal. 

The waitress returned with their hot drinks and Miharu immediately wrapped his hands around the warm mug with a delighted sigh. He curled his shoulders in, hunkering around the mug as if it had some power to warm him. Delicately—yet Yoite felt that he was putting on a show—Miharu licked the whipped cream piled atop the steaming drink.

“Why are you selling your body, Miharu?” Yoite asked suddenly before the tantalizing licking could distract him. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“My old man made me drop out. He needs the money to support his habit and no one’s going to buy him. My mom used to do it before she ran off or maybe she contracted a disease and died,” Miharu said apathetically.

“You don’t know?”

Again, Miharu shrugged and sipped his hot chocolate. 

“Don’t you want to get out?” Yoite asked him.

“I’ve tried running away,” Miharu said. “He always catches me, drags me back, ties me up, hurts me bad, and puts me back out on the corner.”

“Isn’t there something else you could do?” Yoite asked. “Like—”

“Like what?” Miharu asked sharply. His green eyes flashed meanly over the rim of his mug. “Plead with some politician like Tojuro Hattori to help me? Here’s a news flash for you—your precious ‘protect the children’ candidate is one of the men who fuck me the hardest!”

Yoite flinched.

Miharu quieted, sipping his warm drink in a state of bliss. “I don’t really think there’s any escape for me,” he said softly, “not until that bastard is dead. That’s why I’ll pay you to shoot him.”

“Why don’t you kill him yourself?” Yoite asked.

“Already tried,” Miharu murmured. “I stole a shotgun, but he caught me and he made me pay dearly. There are a lot of places guns don’t belong and inside your body is one of them.” He shuddered, pain rippling through his shoulders at the memory.

Yoite felt sick. “He… he put the gun…”

Miharu snorted. “I’m just lucky he didn’t pull the trigger while it was still inside me.”

“Can’t you stay with someone?” Yoite asked. 

“I have no living relatives.”

“What about me?” Yoite asked suddenly. “You could stay with me. I’m sure Yukimi wouldn’t mind—”

Miharu’s sharp laugh cut him off. “I already have an old man who fucks the hell out of me. I don’t need another.” He polished off his drink and rose from the booth. “Thanks for the drink, but I have to get back. If I don’t make enough, he’ll make me stand out there all night and that’s when all the rapists come out.”

Yoite grabbed Miharu’s wrist. “Wait.”

“What?” Miharu waited, but he shook off Yoite’s grip.

“You always say something like that—about being raped… What’s the difference between that and what you already let people do to you?”

Again, Miharu looked genuinely surprised. He was quiet for a moment and then said softly, “Because when I’m raped, I don’t get paid so it isn’t worth it at all.”

“But aren’t they both horrible?”

Miharu nodded and lifted a hand to touch the dark swelling on his face, the split in his lip, the scratches on his shoulders… “Yeah,” he murmured almost to himself.

Silence spread between them. Finally, Miharu turned away again and headed for the door.

“Miharu,” Yoite called after him. “You could stay with me! You could!”

Miharu lifted a hand to wave to Yoite over his shoulder, but didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back for a moment with those green eyes that spoke of so much hurt nor did he speak to Yoite with his wounded mouth. He just walked out into the rain and was gone.

…

Weeks passed without sign of Miharu. If Hattori was still seeing the green-eyed boy, he did it when Yoite wasn’t pretending to sleep in the backseat. Whenever Yoite drove to Miharu’s house, no one answered the door and no one was passed out on the couch inside. Only the amount of spent beer cans was consistent. When Yoite went passed the corner, the girls were still standing there, but Miharu was not. Then, finally, luck struck like a flash of lightning.

…

It seemed that Yoite was only ever able to find Miharu when it was raining or at night. Maybe the poor visibility had something to do with it. Even so, Yoite found him suddenly on a dark moonless night when it was just beginning to drizzle. 

Miharu’s pale naked skin glistened like it was inset with diamonds. He was wearing low-slung jeans and no shirt and he was barefoot. Yoite wasn’t immediately surprised to find Miharu looking like that—he was a prostitute after all—but as he pulled up alongside the boy, surprise choked him.

Miharu’s hands were cuffed behind his back, the metal cutting deeply into his wrists. He had been gagged with a bar that was set painfully between his teeth, but it was too big and his mouth was stretched too wide. Yoite would have thought he had been raped if not for the many crumpled bills that had been stuffed into the waistband of his jeans.

Yoite slammed the car into park and jumped out, running to grab the boy’s shoulders. “Miharu!”

But Miharu’s green eyes were glazed over—maybe he had been drugged or maybe he was just in shock. The boy’s only response was to lean into Yoite, his entire body quivering with cold as the chilling rain began to fall down harder on both of them. 

Yoite fumbled at the gag and then at the cuffs, but both were secured with locks. “Do you have a key for either of these?”

Miharu shook his head.

“Will you come with me?”

For a moment, Miharu hesitated. He seemed to suddenly realize the vulnerable position he was in. He was bound and gagged, unable to even cry out for help. What was he thinking to go with some kid he had only met a few times and was apparently Hattori’s son? He had to crazy, but what other choice did he have? Finally, he nodded.

Yoite pressed him close against his side, supporting his slight weight, and eased Miharu into the passenger seat as if he was a delicate treasure rather than a mere whore. He shrugged out of his sweater and swathed Miharu’s naked torso in the still-warm fabric before reaching across the boy to buckle him in. 

“It’s okay,” he said kindly as he worked. “It’s alright.”

Miharu wished his mouth was free so he could laugh in this guy’s face. He wished he could tell him that it wasn’t okay and that it would never be alright. But he was gagged and could not. Unable to speak, he instead found himself believing Yoite’s soft words despite himself. He snuggled down into the sweater and was warm for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

He didn’t realize he had fallen into an exhausted sleep and dozed through the entire drive to where his mysterious savior lived until he heard voices. One voice belonged Yoite and the other Miharu didn’t recognize. For one heart-stopping moment, he feared he had handed his body, gift-wrapped and prepared for the taking, into the clutches of new violators. Near panic, he suddenly heard the words of the conversation through his fogged mind.

“Yukimi, do you have something that can unlock these?” Yoite was asking.

“Jesus, Yoite!” the strange voice shouted. “What are you thinking? Who is that? What’s going on?”

“Calm down. I’ll explain once we get these off of him.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, hold on,” the other man, apparently Yukimi, said. 

Miharu opened his eyes to see a blond man shuffling hopelessly through several desk drawers. Yoite was holding Miharu’s body gently in his arms like one would a virginal bride. Miharu wanted to snort and protest, but the gag was still set painfully between his teeth.

“I’ve got some wire cutters here. We should be able to cut the leather on the gag,” Yukimi said.

“What about the handcuffs?” Yoite asked.

“I have to look at them. If they’re police issue, I’ll have to borrow a hacksaw. If they’re just dime-store fetish cuffs, I should be able to cut them with these,” Yukimi said as he approached. “Let’s cross one bridge at a time. Now, set him down—easy now.”

Yoite settled Miharu in the still-warm computer chair and the blond man knelt in front of him. Miharu eyed the wire cutters closely, fear shining in his expression.

“It’s alright,” Yukimi hushed him. “I’m not going to hurt you.” With redoubled gentleness, the blond man cut the thick leather straps of the gag and slid it from Miharu’s mouth. Bruises had developed beneath the too-tight straps and Yukimi reached to cautiously touch them before Miharu turned his face away. “Sorry,” he muttered and then pulled Miharu forward against his shoulder so he could examine the cuffs.

“Well?” Yoite asked.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful, Yoite?” Yukimi grumbled. “Make some tea or something? Or grab some band-aids?”

Yoite didn’t move, watching as Yukimi cut the cheap handcuffs. He cut the connecting chain first and then eased Miharu back against the chair before carefully cutting the bracelets. His wrists were a mess of bruises and blood. He had obviously struggled badly against the cuffs to no avail.

Miharu touched his jaw tenderly, wincing when he felt the harsh bruises developing at the corners of his mouth, and said quietly, “Thanks.”

Yukimi turned to Yoite. “Grab the band-aids, a towel, and some hydrogen peroxide,” he said.

Yoite nodded shortly and hurried from the living room to collect these items. His footsteps echoed hollowly in the silent stillness.

Miharu moved to stand. “Well, thanks for the help, but I should be—”

Yukimi pushed him back into a seated position firmly. “No,” he said. “Stay.”

And Miharu knew he had no choice but to obey. He sat quietly until Yoite returned and Yukimi began to bandage and clean his injured wrists. Yukimi was ridiculously gentle with his injuries, warning Miharu each time something was going to sting or hurt. Miharu stared at him with wide eyes, watching his every move until he finished pasting on a few band-aids over the worst of the cuts. 

“Thanks,” Miharu said lamely when Yukimi finished.

“Want something to eat?” Yukimi asked as he handed Yoite the bloodied towel and garbage.

“No thanks,” Miharu said.

“How about some tea?” Yukimi offered as he gathered up the remaining items from the floor.

“No.”

Yukimi fixed Miharu with a stern stare. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, kid, so you’d better settle in and deal with it,” he said firmly. “Now, do you want some tea? When was the last time you ate anything? You look like half a string bean.”

Miharu flushed. “I’m fine.”

Yukimi put away the wire cutters and ignored him in favor of talking to Yoite. “I’ll make some late dinner,” he said. “Why don’t you lend this kid some of your clothes and get him a hot shower?” 

Yoite nodded, tucking his umbrella into the umbrella stand beside the door. “I was planning to.”

“Oh, and what’s his name? Should I be reporting him safe and sound so some authorities?” Yukimi asked.

Miharu opened his mouth to protest, but Yoite cut him off. “This is Miharu and you probably shouldn’t call anyone.”

“Oh?” Yukimi lifted a brow. 

“He’s not a runaway or a murderer,” Yoite told his guardian firmly. “Honest.”

“Alright,” Yukimi relented. “Just get him cleaned up and then we’ll eat.”

Yoite got a fresh towel out of the linen closet and called to Miharu, “Come here.”

Since no one was listening to him anyway and he was in dire need of a shower to wash some of the more used areas of his body, Miharu didn’t bother to argue. At the threshold of the small bathroom, Yoite handed him the towel and a pair of fresh pajamas.

“There’s plenty of shampoo and soap and stuff,” Yoite said lamely. He was suddenly embarrassed. He knew Yukimi was waiting in the kitchen to talk to him. How on earth was he going to explain that he had brought home a child prostitute that Hattori frequently visited? The situation was getting worse the longer he thought about it. “Just come out into the kitchen when you’re done,” he finished uselessly. “Okay?”

Hugging the clothes to his bare chest, Miharu merely nodded.

…

When Yoite came into the kitchen, Yukimi was just adding vegetables and pork to his friend rice. He gave Yoite a moment to gather his thoughts under the guise of searching for a beer in the mess of leftovers inside their fridge. Finding one, he cracked the top and took a long swallow. Then, he turned around to lean against the counter and waited for an explanation. 

“Where should I start?” Yoite groaned and ran a hand over his face.

“How about the beginning? Where did you meet this kid?”

Yoite paled, thinking of Hattori. “I think that’s the worst place to start,” he said.

Yukimi sighed. “Just start somewhere, Yoite.”

“Well, um, Miharu’s a prostitute,” Yoite blurted out.

For a few heartbeats, Yukimi didn’t respond. Then, he shrieked, “What?!”

And Yoite thought that maybe he should have started his story somewhere else.

“You brought home a prostitute?” Yukimi continued shouting. “Wait—wait, wait, wait! How old is that kid? There’s no way that bean pole is eighteen! He can’t even be fourteen! You brought home a child prostitute?!”

Since Yukimi looked like he was going to fly into a flurry of arm-waving and finger-pointing any moment, Yoite quickly interrupted him. “I had to get him off the streets. He was handcuffed and gagged! What was I supposed to do? Should I have just left him like that?”

Yukimi began to calm, breathing deeply. “No, definitely not,” he said. “Sorry about that. It’s just… out of everything I expected you to say, that was not one of them. I was more prepared to handle you telling me you were gay and this was some weird fantasy gone wrong.”

Yoite cracked a smile. “You’re kidding? You really thought that?”

“It seemed like more of a possibility than you bringing home a prostitute,” Yukimi said. “Is he the friend you’ve been looking for for the past few weeks?”

Yoite nodded.

“And how exactly did you meet a prostitute? I highly doubt he goes to your school.”

“He might,” Yoite muttered.

“Yoite,” Yukimi said firmly. His tone of voice left no room for argument or further dodging. He wanted some answers and he wanted them now. “Spit it out.”

Yoite hesitated, biting his lip.

Concern marred Yukimi’s stern features. He had never seen his young ward looking like this. Yoite was always so certain of himself and anything that he wanted—he rarely hesitated and he was quick to act under almost any circumstances. (Case in point being how he brought home a handcuffed and gagged child prostitute in the middle of the night.) “Yoite?” Yukimi asked as he gently grasped the kid by the shoulders and steered him into a kitchen chair. He sat down across from Yoite, weighing the gravity of the situation. “Tell me.”

“I, uh… Remember a while ago when I was campaigning with Hattori and I got home really late?”

Yukimi’s brown wrinkled. “Yeah. Why?”

“Well… that night, Hattori stopped over in the ghetto and he picked up Miharu.”

“To help him?” Yukimi asked, lips curving softly at the thought of Hattori’s campaign expanding further.

But Yoite shook his head, eyes downcast.

Yukimi’s heart dropped into his stomach. “No,” he said.

“He… he bought Miharu for an hour, Yukimi,” Yoite forced out. Mild hysteria worked its way into Yoite’s voice as he admitted just how terribly far their beloved Hattori had fallen. Hattori had pulled Yoite off the streets a few years ago and ushered him from the arms of murderous parents into Yukimi’s warm apartment. Yoite really loved Hattori—he really did. “He thought I was asleep and he… he did him right there, Yukimi!” Yoite continued hysterically. “In the front seat with me in the back! I heard everything!”

Yukimi abruptly wrapped his arms around Yoite, muffling his loud voice against his shirtfront. He hushed the teenager who suddenly seemed as young and small as he had a few years ago when Hattori first brought him to Yukimi. Yoite was so slow to trust anyone, damaged badly by his violent parents, and for Hattori to betray them like this… Yukimi wasn’t certain Yoite could recover from this.

“What are we going to do?” Yoite asked in a small voice. “Yukimi, what should we do?”

“I don’t know,” Yukimi said. “Let’s just get through tonight. We’ll talk about this again in the morning.”

“Okay,” Yoite said softly and pulled free of Yukimi’s embrace. He had half-expected the kid to be crying, but Yoite’s pale face was smooth and calm. The only thing that betrayed his outward appearance was the trembling of his hand as he lifted it to the scar on his throat. 

Yukimi was about to say something comforting when there was a soft knock on the kitchen threshold and they both turned sharply to see Miharu standing there. He looked better now that he had showered and changed into clean clothes that covered all his bruised and battered skin, but the bruises at the corners of his mouth from the gag still stood out painfully.

“Hi,” Miharu said thinly in the silence. “Something… smells good.”

Yukimi turned back to the stove—he had been so busy talking to Yoite that he had forgotten all about the food. He was heating up a can of tomato soup and making some grilled cheeses since it was quick, easy, hot, and above all comforting. “Why don’t you grab some plates, Yoite, and some glasses?”

Yoite nodded, took some dishes out of the cabinet, and set them down on the counter. He took a gallon of milk from the fridge and filled three glasses. Then, he went to the kitchen table and began clearing everything off it. He dumped some dirty dishes in the sink, put Yukimi’s notebooks by the computer, swept all his homework into a pile, and stacked up several books at one end since there was no more room on the shelf for them.

Miharu watched curiously, standing a safe distance from both of them. 

Yukimi slid the grilled cheeses onto plates and called for Yoite. Yoite took them and set them at the table along with some spoons for the soup. Yukimi came to the table with three bowls of soup and set them down, hissing as the steam burned his fingers. Yoite grabbed the milk and then sat down. Yukimi sat beside him. Then, after a moment they both turned to look at Miharu. 

“Come, sit,” Yukimi said. “It’s not poisoned.”

Miharu approached nervously, his bare feet thin and scraped and quiet on the floor. He slid in across from Yoite with Yukimi to his left and wrapped his hands around the warm bowl with a soft breath of relief. Much to his surprise, neither Yoite nor Yukimi pressed him for details about anything. Yukimi asked some cursory questions about school and sports and when Miharu gave him short answers like, ‘My old man makes me sell myself all day. I don’t have that luxury,’ Yukimi let it drop.

They finished the late meal in mostly-silence, listening to the pattering of the rain on the windows and roof of the apartment building. Miharu politely helped them clear the table afterwards and then tried to inch towards the door. Maybe if he slipped out now…

“Hey,” Yukimi said and his voice cut through Miharu like a blade. 

Miharu stopped dead.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” Yukimi said.

A little shiver went up Miharu’s spine and goose bumps broke out all over his skin. “I should be getting—”

“Back to what? To that bastard that lets people do this to you?” Yukimi gestured at the bruises on Miharu’s face and wrists. “You’re not leaving tonight. We’ll think of some way to help you, but until then, you’re staying here.”

Miharu wanted to protest, to throw open the door and bolt out into the chilling rain, but… Yukimi was right. What did he have to go back to? Even if he stayed here and they decided to use him, at least he had gotten a hot meal out of it. That was more than he could say for the house where he slept, showered, and was raped.

“Yoite,” Yukimi said. “We used to camp when you were little. See if you can find the air mattress in the closet.”

“I think that exploded last year when you jumped on it,” Yoite said, but opened the closet and began pulling things out anyway.

“I thought I bought another,” Yukimi muttered, coming to peer into the closet as well.

“I think you planned on it, but never did,” Yoite told him.

“That might be true,” Yukimi relented. “Okay, I’ll see if I can borrow one from our neighbor. I have to work late tonight—damn deadlines, damn six articles—so set Miharu up in your room. I don’t want my typing to keep him up. He looks exhausted.”

Yoite nodded, pulled out an inflatable pool toy that was shaped like a duck, and crammed it back into the closet. Yukimi chuckled, ruffled Yoite’s dark hair, and ducked out of the apartment to go visit their neighbor, Hanabusa, who had everything somewhere.

Miharu stood nervously, his hands folded tight, trying not to think about what it would be like if these two kind souls turned on him. He wasn’t sure he could take it if he was betrayed by yet someone else who had promised to help him. 

Finally, Yoite shoved everything back into the closet with a sigh. He stood up, grabbed a stack of spare quilts and pillows from the top shelf, and closed the door with his foot. “I think the air mattress—if it survived last summer—was eaten by gremlins.”

For a moment, Miharu just stared at him, but then a small smile tugged at the corner of his bruised mouth. “Gremlins, huh?”

Yoite shrugged. “It could happen.” Then, he started laughing and Miharu found it contagious. He was giggling as well when Yukimi came back into the apartment with his arms wrapped around a neatly-folded air mattress and a pump, the cord hanging down like a tail.

“I see you two are getting along well,” Yukimi said with a smile.

Together, they trooped down the hall to Yoite’s room. Yukimi and Yoite cleared some stuff out of the way to make room on the floor for the make-shift bed, but Yoite’s room was surprisingly neat for a teenager. The walls were painted off-white and some posters of nature—forests, rivers, mountains—were tacked up on the wall. A singular blue beta fish swam in a bowl full of bamboo, watching them with curious fish eyes. Then, Yukimi plugged in the pump and began inflating the air mattress, pressing his hand against the plastic as it expanded. 

Yoite handed Miharu the stack of blankets and stuffed a pillow into a clean pillowcase. “Sure,” he said. 

“It’s nice to see you making friends, Yoite, even if they are child prostitutes.”

Miharu bristled, the hair on the back of his neck rising with worry, but Yukimi didn’t say anything more about Miharu’s profession and he even gave the boy a pitying smile as if he could apologize for everything the world had ever done to him. Miharu found himself looking away, ashamed, but then Yukimi put a hand on his skinny shoulder and gave it a light squeeze before leaving the boys alone without saying another word. Miharu gazed after him, puzzled. What a strange adult…

“Sorry about that,” Yoite said to Miharu, interrupting his thoughts. “Yukimi means well, but he never planned on having kids. Sometimes he just says the first thing that comes to his mind without actually thinking about the words.”

“It’s okay,” Miharu said. “It’s not like it matters.”

Yoite tucked some sheets over the air mattress and then shut off the pump with a sigh. He fluffed a blanket over the bed and set down a pillow. Miharu put down the remainder of the stack of blankets on Yoite’s desk and then peered curiously at the fish. It puffed itself up, all fins and small mouth without any visible teeth.

“Sorry,” Yoite said as he gave the fish some food. “He doesn’t like anyone. He has issues.”

Miharu chuckled softly. “Don’t we all?”

Yoite didn’t answer and merely said, “I’ll get you a toothbrush and then let’s get some sleep. We’ll have a lot on our plates tomorrow.” He grabbed some pajamas, tucked them under his arm, and was gone a few minutes, leaving Miharu alone. When he returned, he was wearing pajamas and smelled like mint. He handed Miharu a toothbrush without a word and moved towards his bed.

Miharu went down the hall to the bathroom. He could hear Yukimi typing and muttering to himself as he worked. He closed the bathroom door, brushed his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair, and then studied his face in the mirror. The bruises at the corners of his mouth were standing out hideously, his throat was marked with hickeys, and he was skeleton-thin. He didn’t understand why so many bad things were always happening to him. His old man always said it was because of his pretty face, but Miharu didn’t think he looked all that pretty. He shut off the bathroom light and made his way back to Yoite’s room.

The light was off and it was quiet. Miharu thought that Yoite was already sleeping so he slid quietly into the make-shift bed and tried to relax. He listened to the faint sounds of life in the apartment building. He could still hear Yukimi working. Somewhere, a woman was singing and a baby was crying softly, but there were none of the sounds he often heard in his neighborhood. No one was screaming or cursing. Cats weren’t yowling. The city felt quiet, still, safe…

Miharu closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the pillow. Lemon, he realized, he could smell lemons.

In the bed beside him, Yoite shifted slightly. The sound of his breathing was light, too light, and Miharu knew he was still awake. For some reason, that thought filled him with comfort rather than fear. He didn’t think Yoite would force him down, force his way inside, force Miharu to enjoy it or force him to cry. 

“Um, Yoite?” Miharu ventured into the darkness.

For a moment, Yoite was silent, feigning sleep like he had those times Hattori picked Miharu up on the street and fucked him in the car. Guilt picked at him and then he said softly, “Yeah?”

“Thank you… for this…” Miharu whispered, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack.

“You’re welcome,” Yoite said softly.

X X X

(1) Little known lingo: “old man” can mean ‘father’ or ‘pimp’ so I’ll leave it to your imaginations whether or not the man selling Miharu is his dad or just a random bastard.

The sooner I get some **reviews** about whether people would like to see Miharu and Yoite together, the **sooner** I write the final chapter and the sooner I **post** it.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	3. Sunshine after a Hurricane

This is no longer the last chapter. There will be one more.

X X X

Sleeping on the floor of Yoite’s bedroom was the best night of sleep Miharu had gotten in years. He tried not to think about how his old man always came into his room at night, stripped him naked, and took him more violently than half his customers ever did. Sometimes, he left him bound with something stuffed inside him, aching, tearing. 

Miharu woke early, before Yoite, and carefully crept out of the bedroom. He explored the small apartment, peeking behind every closed door for some hidden sign that his saviors were really more tormentors in disguise. He didn’t find anything and came out into the kitchen, finding himself face-to-face with Yukimi. For a moment, his entire body froze in horror. His mouth dropped open and he just stared at Yukimi, stricken, thinking about what was to come.

“Good morning,” was all Yukimi said without a hint of underlying motive. “Want some coffee?”

Miharu didn’t want to decline so he just nodded. 

Yukimi poured him a cup, black, and handed it over. 

Miharu looked into it nervously and then took a sip. Even though he had had gin and vodka poured in to his mouth countless times, he was pretty sure black coffee was one of the worst things he had ever tasted. He shuddered, his cheeks flushing with color. Even so, he pretended he liked it, smiling at Yukimi gratefully.

The older man saw right through him and chuckled. “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he said and plucked the mug from Miharu’s hands. Instead, he added some chocolate sauce to some milk, popped it in the microwave, and topped it off with a sizable dollop of marshmallow. 

This Miharu took with true gratitude, sipping it happily.

“You’re just like Yoite,” Yukimi said softly.

Miharu glanced up at Yukimi through his lashes. “No, I’m not.”

Yukimi looked sad, his blue eyes taking on the color of storm clouds heavy with rain. “I suppose you don’t think that, but you’re more alike than you think,” he said softly.

Miharu wanted to slam the mug down and shout at Yukimi that he had no idea what he was walking about—he didn’t know what Miharu had gone through, how many times he had been taken against his will, how many times he stood on that corner in the rain until his entire body was numb, how many times their great politician Hattori had made Miharu call him ‘Daddy.’ But just as the words nearly escaped Miharu, he remembered the scar on Yoite’s throat. He realized that he was the one who didn’t know anything.

“What happened to Yoite?” Miharu asked instead.

Yukimi shook his head. “It’s not my place to tell. If you want to know, you ask him.”

“Ask me what?” came Yoite’s voice. He was standing in the threshold, sleepy-looking with his hair mussed and his pajamas wrinkled. 

The scar on Yoite’s throat was long and jagged as if it had been made with broken glass. Miharu had a few scars like that on his back. But unlike the scars he had on his back and thighs and feet, this scar spoke of intent. Someone had tried to slash Yoite’s throat. Someone had tried to kill him.

Miharu glanced swiftly at Yukimi, silently asking but Yukimi shook his head.

“Ask me what?” Yoite asked again.

“What you wanted for breakfast,” Miharu said. He had always been able to think quickly on his feet. It was a trick of the trade, he supposed.

Yoite bought it easily. “How about some scrambled eggs and toast?” he suggested.

Yukimi nodded. “You boys handle it. I’ve almost finished with three of my articles and I want to get over the hump here,” he explained. Then, he took his mug of coffee and returned to his desk. He started typing away, grumbling and muttering to himself like a crazy person.

“Is he always like that?” Miharu asked Yoite.

“Like what?” Yoite asked as he pulled the eggs and bread out of the fridge.

“He mutters to himself while he’s working,” Miharu said. How could Yoite not hear it?

Yoite smiled, laughing softly. “Yeah, he is. I don’t even hear it anymore. I’m so used to it.”

“You’ve lived with Yukimi a long time, huh?” Miharu asked.

Yoite nodded, but the smile fell from his face and his hand went to the scar on his throat.

It was on the tip of Miharu’s tongue to ask about the scar, but then he thought of his own scars and decided that he didn’t want to. He certainly didn’t want anyone to ask him about his scars or how he got them. So he swallowed the question and helped Yoite cook breakfast. 

…

Yukimi’s phone rang just as the smell of breakfast was getting unbearable. He answered without looking at the screen to see who was calling, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder. “What?” he snapped. Then, on the off chance it was one of his many bosses, he schooled his response. “I mean, hello?”

“It’s Hattori.”

Yukimi’s blood went cold in his veins and his heart skipped several beats before lurching back into gear. He stopped typing and gave the call his undivided attention, curling his fingers into a white-knuckled grip on the phone. “Hey,” he forced himself to say cheerfully. “What’s up?”

“I need Yoite today for some ribbon-cutting ceremony at the Children’s Hospital. I’ll be there to pick him up in a little bit,” Hattori said in his usual high-and-mighty tone of voice. 

Yukimi wet his lips and then dug into his reserves. He was about to tell Hattori ‘No’ in every nasty way he could think of and then hang up, but God only knew that that would mean for Yoite and Miharu. Hattori was a powerful political candidate. He could probably make people disappear in the blink of an eye.

“Sure,” Yukimi said finally. “I’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Hattori said and hung up.

There was no ‘Thank you.’ He had expected Yukimi to go along with him all along and Yukimi had played right into his game. Well, Hattori was going to pay for what he had done to Miharu. Yukimi wouldn’t allow Hattori to keep living this lie. He couldn’t preach safety and sanctuary, promising to clean up the ghettos and donate to hospitals, when he picked up Miharu and raped him. But what could Yukimi do to take down such a political figurehead?

“Yukimi,” Yoite called. “The light is out in the closet again. I can’t find the toaster.”

“I’m going to buy an entire new socket,” Yukimi shouted to his young charge.

“He’s been saying that for weeks,” he heard Yoite mutter to Miharu. “He’s never going to fix it. Help me look for the toaster or we’re going to have bread.”

“Bread is fine,” Miharu said lightly. 

“It’s not,” Yoite said sternly. “Bread is for lunch. Toast is for breakfast.”

“It’s not going to ruin your reputation if you have the wrong kind of side with your eggs,” Miharu told Yoite. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Abruptly, the figurative light bulb came on above Yukimi’s head. The light was blinding and apparent, so obvious that Yukimi could have smacked himself for not thinking of it sooner. He joined the boys at the breakfast table and explained his plan to them. Yoite looked concerned, but Miharu’s lips twisted into a treacherous smile. 

“I like it,” he said with a widening smirk, “But I have something I want to add to your plan.”

Yoite knew it was coming. The words flashing through his mind like a siren 

‘I’ll pay you to shoot him,’ Miharu had said and though he didn’t repeat that phrase now, the gist of it was the same. 

Yukimi looked shocked and then sickened as Miharu explained why. He told Yukimi about how he had tried to escape his old man so many times, only to be dragged back and raped and beaten. He explained about when he had stolen a shotgun and tried to kill his old man himself only to have the gun rammed into a place where freezing metal didn’t belong. His eyes welled with tears that didn’t fall as he continued. When he finished, Yukimi merely nodded and met Yoite’s eyes. Suddenly, he understood all the moral questions Yoite had been asking him over the past few weeks.

Yukimi took his handgun from the nightstand beside his bed, loaded it, and took the safety off just in case. 

It all made sense. 

It was all decided. 

…

Hattori arrived like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter. He was wearing his favorite charcoal-grey suit that made him look slimmer and younger with a narrow tie that his wife had given to him. His hair was combed back, his beard was neatly-trimmed, and his face was smooth with power. He was wearing one of his ‘Save the Children’ campaign buttons. He was such a smug pompous bastard, Yukimi thought and then wondered why he had never noticed it before.

Miharu had changed out of Yoite’s pajamas and slipped back into the jeans Yoite had found him in the night before. Yoite then lightly cuffed Miharu’s wrists in front of him and mussed his hair so that Miharu looked suitably used and abused, just how Hattori liked him to look. Yoite’s hand shook as he worked, but Miharu only looked eager.

Then, finally, there was a knock at the door. 

Yoite nodded, scurried to the door, and pulled it open. “Hey Hattori,” he said as cheerfully as he could manage. 

“Hello Yoite. Are you ready to go?” Hattori asked.

“Almost,” Yoite said. “Will you come in for a minute?”

Hattori looked at his watch. “We really should be going, Yoite.”

“Just for a minute,” Yoite continued. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“Alright,” Hattori relented to keep up appearances. “Just for a minute.”

Yoite ushered him in, closed the door, and locked it. The last thing he needed was for someone to be drawn by the shouting that was sure to follow their little declaration and come barging in. Hattori didn’t even notice. His eyes had bugged out of his head, his mouth falling open in surprise.

Miharu was standing in the middle of the room in a shaft of light. His lip was split and his face was battered and he was nearly-naked and it was the most horrible thing Yoite had ever seen, but nothing could disguise the way Hattori’s pants tightened. He didn’t have a briefcase to hide the bulge.

“Like what you see, Master Tojuro?” Miharu asked with a sneer. 

“What is this?” Hattori demanded, whirling to face Yoite. 

Yukimi had closed in ranks beside his young ward. He let Hattori see his gun and cocked it. “This is what you would call ‘Blackmail’ with a capital B,” Yukimi said smoothly. “Certainly a fine politician like yourself is familiar with the word.”

“Blackmail?” Hattori demanded. “What do you mean? What are you doing with this poor boy?” Hattori moved towards Miharu, his hands outstretched. His wedding ring shone like an accusatory finger, glinting in the light. “He obviously needs help!”

Miharu pulled his lips back over his teeth in a brilliant display of hatred and rage. “You’d like to help yourself to me, wouldn’t you, Master Tojuro?”

Hattori forced a laugh. “The boy is obviously confused. Let me take him to the hospital—”

“Save it,” Yukimi bit out. “We already know.”

All the blood drained from Hattori’s face, but he tried to save face. He stood up a little straighter and looked Yukimi in the eye. “You can’t prove anything.”

“Can’t we?” Yukimi hissed. Then, he threw the gag he had cut from Miharu’s mouth the night before at Hattori’s feet. “I bet there’s a receipt for this somewhere in your house and I’m sure a doctor will find signs of you inside his body.”

“I didn’t—”

Miharu freed himself from the cuffs and threw those at Hattori’s feet as well. “Here’s how this is going to work, Master Tojuro,” he snarled. “You will do exactly what we say and I’ll keep my mouth shut about all your little indiscretions. We wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation, now would we? It’s hard to be anything when the whole world knows that you pay custom to rape a little boy.”

Hattori backpedaled, looking desperately from Yukimi to Yoite and back to Miharu. “You can’t,” he breathed out. “This is blackmail…”

“Yes,” Yukimi agreed. “It is.”

Hattori stumbled drunkenly and his eyes fell on Yoite. 

Yoite’s face was pale and stricken. So many years ago, Hattori had saved him from his murderous parents, saved his very life. Yoite was still having trouble believing the man who had saved him, the man he looked up to and believed with all his heart, was capable of such terrible things. Hattori saw that thread of doubt and jumped on it. 

“Yoite,” he gasped, grabbing the boy’s shoulders and shaking him lightly. “You don’t believe this blasphemy, do you? You know I would never hurt another child. I saved you from your parents, remember? I brought you to Yukimi. You owe me your life. Don’t let them—”

“That’s enough,” Yukimi and Miharu snapped in unison. 

Yukimi pushed Hattori away from Yoite and stepped between them. “Tell him, Yoite. Give him our conditions.”

Yoite’s throat flashed as he swallowed, the scar moving like a living thing. Then, his eyes darkened with resolve and he met Hattori’s gaze. “I don’t owe you anything,” he said bitterly. “You’re a liar. I saw you rape Miharu. I was awake the whole time while you were—” his voice cracked “—having your way with him.”

Hattori’s expression shattered.

“This is what you’re going to do,” Yoite continued. “You will do exactly what you’ve been campaigning for. You’re going to clean up the ghetto and get kids like Miharu off the streets. You’re going to donate to orphanages and hospitals, just like you promised. You will do everything you promised and if you don’t…”

Hattori’s eyes cut to Miharu, who was smiling wickedly.

“We’ll tell the media everything,” Yoite continued. “Don’t think we won’t or that no one will believe us. Yukimi writes for half the newspapers in the city. Everyone knows he’s your right-hand-man so if he writes something as scandalous as this, everyone will believe it.”

Sweat began to bead on Hattori’s brow.

“And even if they don’t, even if you manage to make them believe Yukimi’s a disgruntled nut who’s out to blaspheme you, we still have Miharu,” Yoite finished. “Everyone will believe him. They’ll see the bruises on his body, the scars on him. And people will believe me when I say that I saw you rape him.”

Silence hung thick between them for a long moment. All Yoite could hear was his own heart beating and the distant tick of the clock. 

“Alright,” Hattori relented. “Alright, I’ll do it. Just keep this to yourselves.”

Miharu grinned. “One more thing.”

The veins in Hattori’s neck bulged, but his face was still a mask of outward calm. “What?”

“I want to you kill my old man.”

For a moment, Hattori didn’t look like he really believed what Miharu said. He looked like he was waiting for the punch line, waiting for them to start laughing. When the serious expressions on their faces didn’t change, his breath rattled out. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he snapped at them. “I can’t kill someone.”

“Sure you can,” Miharu said, nudging the cuffs and gag with his bare toes as a potent reminder. “He’s just a rapist and a child molester. No one will miss him. Go to my house, break the window, and blow him away. He’ll probably be passed out on the couch, thinking about all the money I’ll bring home to him with my body.”

Hattori looked nauseated. “You can’t make me do this,” he rasped out.

“Can’t we?” Yukimi asked. 

Hattori swayed on his feet and suddenly blotted away the sweat on his face with his tie. “You can’t…” he breathed out.

Miharu ran his fingertips along the curve of his naked ribs, ghosting over his pale nipples and the hickeys on his throat and the scars that circled his wrists. “I wonder what the city will think when they see what you did to me,” he remarked.

“I wasn’t your only customer,” Hattori snapped and then paled.

“That’s not a very good defense,” Yukimi said. “Now, just do what we say and no one will have to know about what you did.”

“You can’t…”

“And we’ll be watching,” Yoite put in, hoping his voice was stronger than he felt inside. “We’ll know if you try to take another child prostitute. We’ll know if you go back on your word. We’ll be watching your every move—closely—from now on.”

Hattori stared at them for a long moment, appearing to pray that they were bluffing, but they were the furthest thing from bluffing right now. They were dead serious. Finally, with a short jerk of his head, Hattori nodded in agreement. “Alright,” he relented. “Give me your gun, Yukimi.”

Yukimi chuckled. “Get your own gun,” he said bitterly. “Do you think I’m that stupid?”

“I was hoping…” Hattori muttered.

Yukimi’s glare chased him out the door.

The moment it shut, Yukimi put the safety back on his gun, locked the door behind Hattori, and then dumped some rum into his coffee with a sigh. Yoite collapsed in a nearby chair, put his head between his knees, and did a lot of deep breathing. Miharu tugged a shirt on over his painful nudity, but looked far less rattled than they did. In fact, he looked downright pleased. 

“Do you think it worked?” Yoite asked after a long moment.

“Time will tell,” Yukimi muttered and drained his mug.

…

Yukimi went back to his work with a sort of vengeance after that, draining mug after mug of coffee spiked with rum until Yoite was beginning to wonder if all he was writing was gibberish. He had certainly had too much alcohol to be writing anything logical at this point. Yoite gently scraped his guardian away from the coffee pot and the computer. He led him down the hallway, convinced him to go to bed, tucked him in, and then shut the light off with a sigh.

Then, Miharu and Yoite were alone in the living room, staring at the dribble that was daytime television. Yoite was just starting to think that maybe he’d have a cup of coffee with a little rum in it now that Yukimi was out like a light when Miharu spoke.

“Why would you do all this for me? You don’t owe me anything,” Miharu remarked without taking his eyes from the TV. 

“True,” Yoite said in return and then fell silent.

Miharu turned to look at him now. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What else should I say?” Yoite asked.

“I don’t know,” Miharu said, his eyes sliding away. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t want something from me in exchange.”

“Not every person in this world is scum,” Yoite said. 

It was clear he was thinking of Yukimi. In fact, they both were. Yukimi had put everything on the line just now, threatening Hattori at gunpoint to do what they said or else they’d ruin everything by going public with Miharu’s story. Yukimi could have lost everything—his job, his apartment, his reputation, Yoite—if something had gone wrong.

“Yukimi is very nice,” Miharu said finally. “So are you, Yoite.”

Yoite smiled softly. “Thanks. You’re not half-bad yourself.”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the television half-heartedly. Down the hallway, Yukimi had begun to snore hideously. It sounded a little like a chainsaw and Miharu was starting to worry that he’d suck the drapes of the window.

“Yukimi usually doesn’t drink like that,” Yoite said suddenly. “He must have been really stressed out.”

“Yeah,” Miharu agreed. Then, he rose from the couch and said softly, “Well, I should be going. Thanks for everything.”

Yoite grabbed his wrist, pulling him back sharply. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay with us.”

Miharu looked doubtfully at the cluttered apartment. 

“Yukimi says that if Hattori does what we said, he’ll pressure him to get us a bigger apartment, maybe even a house. If—when—that happens, we can get a dog,” Yoite said as if that was all it would take to get Miharu to stay. 

And, as much as Miharu hated to admit it, he had always wanted a pet, especially a dog. “I can stay?”

Yoite nodded. “Yukimi wants you to.”

“What about you? Don’t I make you nervous?” Miharu asked Yoite, hating himself for every word that passed his lips. Why did he have to act like this? So self-destructive. “You saw the man you looked up to rape me. I’m singularly responsible for destroying the happy little bubble you were living in.”

Yoite shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I would have found out sooner or later.”

Miharu sat down on the couch again. He wet his lips, but then shook his head. Together, they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The only sound was the drone of the television and the roar of Yukimi snoring down the hall. Yoite turned up the TV just as the cartoon split aside for ‘Breaking News.’

“The body of this man,” the anchorman was saying as a morgue photograph of Miharu’s old man filled the screen, “has just been found floating in the canal. He appears to have been shot execution-style right between the eyes. Anyone with information is encouraged to call this number.”

Yoite glanced over at Miharu and was met by a broad victorious smile.

…

Life was easier after that even though it felt as if it shouldn’t have been.

With Hattori’s swift negation of bureaucratic red tape and political blessing, Yukimi adopted Miharu just as he had Yoite all those years ago. Miharu enrolled in Yoite’s school and once Yoite tutored him so he was caught up, the boy proved to be an excellent student. He was also the heartthrob of all the girls. His small stature and thinness, the darkness in his eyes, and the way he still occasionally flinched back from a friendly touch made them all want to coddle him just like a damaged hero from a movie. 

Yoite was both amused and saddened by this, his hand going to the scar on his throat. He knew how Miharu felt. He had been in the same position until Miharu had come and swept it away. It wasn’t something Yoite missed in any case. He wished there was something he could do to help Miharu. The boy deserved to be happy after everything he had been through.

For his part, Yukimi appeared to believe that so long as the boys were busy, nothing could possibly go wrong. He bullied Hattori until the politician dished out some serious dough for a neat little house in the suburbs of the city. It had a wide green lawn and a pool in the backyard and was surrounded by towering maple trees. Yukimi soon rescued a dog from the shelter—a happy lab mix with honey-brown eyes—followed quickly by a tabby cat with a too-short tail. He wanted to get another dog, but Yoite talked him out of it. 

Even though they didn’t need the money anymore, Yukimi kept his job and his contacts—just in case! But he did cut down on the amount of articles he took on. He didn’t need to break his back and pull all-nighters anymore. He could take some time off and spend time with his friends and his kids. (He usually only called them that after he had been out with his friends and had a few too many beers.)

Every Saturday, Yoite and Miharu went out in the city’s ghettos and slums. They checked the corners for child prostitutes, greased palms for information, and made sure that Hattori wasn’t going back on his word. So far, the politician hadn’t dared try anything, but Miharu was convinced he would try something eventually. He insisted that people like Hattori couldn’t just stop because there was a gavel hanging over their heads. They were addicted to the violence and the cruelty and that wasn’t something that could be quit overnight. 

Bad habits are hard to break and old habits die hard 

Unfortunately, the same could be said for Miharu.

…

It was cold and flu season. And, even though Yukimi had filled the refrigerator with orange juice, Yoite still managed to get himself sick. He was lurking about in the deserted hallway during lunch hour, debating if he was feeling ill enough to go to the nurse and get sent home or just suck it up for the last few hours. He was just about to drag himself off to the cafeteria and try to eat something when he heard it.

“Come on, Miharu, just a little bit more,” someone was saying.

At first, Yoite didn’t pay much attention to it. Miharu was always being propositioned by girls for dates or being pestered by a teacher to work just a little bit harder so he could get into the Honors program (which he eluded very purposefully). With a shrug, Yoite continued on towards the cafeteria, backpack slung heavy over one shoulder. It was so quiet that his footsteps echoed against the walls eerily. 

“No,” came Miharu’s voice, but it was thin and small.

Something was wrong. 

Yoite stopped dead and glanced around, trying to decided there the voices were coming from. He listened, every fiber of his body straining beyond the beat of his own heart. It felt the same as when he had been searching for Miharu on the streets, unable to find him unless it was pitch-black or raining. But the school was neither. Yoite shook those thoughts away and just listened, harder and harder.

“Come on. You’ve done it before.” It was a boy’s voice, Yoite realized.

“I said no,” Miharu said. “I don’t want to.”

“I waited all day. Come on, Miharu.” A little bit of anger slipped into the strange boy’s voice.

The voices were coming from the bathroom and Yoite quickly hurried over, trying to move as quietly as possible. Even though he was certain something was wrong, a little voice of reason in the back of his head kept saying that this might be nothing and not to ruin anything like a stupid knight-in-shining-armor if Miharu was alright. He opened the door just a little and peeked through the small space.

Miharu was backed up against the row of sinks. He had been stripped of his jacket and his shirt was un-tucked and unbuttoned, hanging open like folded wings against his white skin. His red tie was knotted around his wrists in a hopeless snarl. The belt of his pants had been pulled free and lay like a coiled snake on the floor. His pants had also been unbuttoned and unzipped, sliding down his hips to reveal his narrow waist and the band of his boxers. 

There were two jocks in letterman jackets on either side of him. One had his fingers curled in Miharu’s collar, pulling the shirt aside just enough that he could pinch the boy’s exposed nipple. Miharu winced in a way that looked practiced. The other boy was licking his lips in anticipation, speaking, trying to convince Miharu to let them have their way.

Yoite was stricken, frozen in shock, for mere seconds. He was just about to burst through the door when one of the jocks said something that froze his insides.

The second boy took a twenty from his pocket and rasped it against Miharu’s naked chest. “Come on,” he said again. “We’ll be gentle and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Miharu’s eyes followed the money for a moment and his lips parted sensuously.

Yoite knew in that moment that Miharu was going to agree. Before that could happen, he slammed open the bathroom door and shouted, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Both jocks whirled to face Yoite, their faces pale. They both had perfect cheerleader girlfriends and scholarships. What would people think if they were caught trying to bang Miharu in the bathroom during lunch? Needless to say, they scatted like spineless jellyfish. Miharu stood his ground, but his face was white with shock and horror. For a moment, he stared at Yoite. Then, his eyes slid away, ashamed.

“Miharu,” Yoite bit out. “What are you doing?” 

Miharu tugged at the tie that bound his wrists. “Nothing.”

Yoite approached him, grabbed his wrists, and pulled them forward so he could examine the knot. After a moment, he managed to untie it and watched as Miharu redressed himself with steady hands. If it wasn’t for the pounding pulse in his throat, Yoite would have thought he was perfectly calm.

Once Miharu was dressed again, Yoite took him by the hand and dragged him out of the school. It was a cool day, brisk but not cold, but Yoite stilled hauled Miharu across the parking lot like it was pouring rain. He tore open the car door, shoved Miharu in, and got in quickly after him.

Again, Yoite asked, “What were you doing?” His voice was echoed by the slamming of the car door.

“Don’t ask me that,” Miharu said, gazing out the window at nothing. “You saw it. You saw me.”

“What I don’t understand is why,” Yoite said sharply. “Why would you go back to that?”

For a moment, Miharu was silent. Then, in a voice that broke Yoite’s heart, he whispered, “It’s all I know. What else am I supposed to do?”

Yoite’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Finally, he choked out, “You’re supposed to go to school and get good grades and—”

“For what?” Miharu interrupted. His voice was watery, holding back tears. “For what, Yoite?” 

Yoite tried to find words, but he couldn’t. There was nothing he could say that would make any of this better.

“I appreciate everything you and Yukimi did for me but what do you think will happen when school ends? I was at your school for two weeks before those jocks figured out what I am and propositioned me!” Miharu’s voice cracked and a single tear slid down his cheek. “How could they tell? What part of me is so damaged that it’s obvious I’m a whore?”

Miharu fell silent, biting his lower lip fiercely as he tried to hold back the tears that slowly slipped down his pale cheeks. His narrow shoulders heaved with half-restrained sobs and he wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing himself together with the pressure of his hands. Yoite tried not to think about how many times Miharu must have done this—crumpled half-dressed and crying, keeping himself together because he had no one else.

Yoite couldn’t bear to watch. He leaned across the center console of the car, wrapped his arms around Miharu, and embraced him tightly. For a moment, Miharu struggled against the comforting gesture, pushing weakly at Yoite’s chest and shoulders, but Yoite refused to let him go. Finally, Miharu crumpled in Yoite’s arms, clinging to him and sobbing for all he was worth. For the longest time, Yoite just held him and felt all the breaks in the poor boy’s heart.

Yoite wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. Miharu’s tears dried slowly and then his sobs quieted. His fingers uncurled from Yoite’s jacket, relaxing against the soft fabric. Even so, he didn’t pull away from the warm embrace. Yoite was rubbing his back, warming him with delicious friction. He sighed, leaning closer, listening to the beat of Yoite’s steady heart. Yoite smelled like lemons and clean laundry and faint cologne. Miharu had never felt so safe.

“I want to tell you something, Miharu,” Yoite whispered into his hair. “Something about myself… Will you listen?”

Miharu nodded, his nose brushing against Yoite’s chest.

“I know Yukimi mentioned to you about… how Hattori brought me to him… My scar…” He wet his lips, lifting a hand to touch the old injury. Instead, he ran his fingers through Miharu’s dark hair. “My mother always wanted a girl, but when she had me, she died. My father hated me. He blamed me for taking her and… I know now that it wasn’t my fault, but at the time, I thought I really was an Angel of Death.”

Yoite twisted Miharu’s hair softly around his fingers, feeling the silken strands slide away. “My father remarried not long after I was born,” he continued. “He kept me locked in the basement. I just remember it being so dark and cold down there. When it rained, the water seeped in through the walls. I know he was afraid that I would cause someone else he loved to die, just like I had killed my mother.”

“I don’t know when he decided it would be better if I didn’t exist,” Yoite murmured into Miharu’s hair. “He just came down into the basement in the middle of the night. I remember being so happy to see him. I thought, maybe, he was finally going to love me. But then, I saw the knife and I knew… I knew he never would. I don’t think I even cried for help. I thought I deserved it—deserved to die.”

Yoite pressed his hand to the jagged scar on his throat, his pulse beating raggedly behind the thin skin. “He cut my throat and when I saw all the blood, I was suddenly terrified. I didn’t want to die. So… I ran,” he murmured. “Hattori found me on the street, inches from death, and decided he could use me. He took me to the hospital. He saved my life. Then, he brought me to Yukimi.”

His hand slid down from his scar. “I didn’t think I’d ever be worth anything to anyone. But… Hattori used me. He needed me for his campaign, for his image, and it worked,” Yoite continued softly. “Yukimi had never planned on having kids, but he does the best he can. It must not have been easy… I was six when I came to live with Yukimi, but…”

“I had been locked in the basement for most of my life.” He took a deep shuddering breath and then admitted, “I had never been to school. I never learned to read or write. I don’t think I would have learned to speak if my father hadn’t wanted me to understand what I had done. I barely knew anything and it was a struggle, but Hattori got me the best tutors there were and we all worked hard.”

“Hattori was everything to me,” Yoite whispered. “It’s been really hard lately, knowing what he did to you. If I hadn’t been so damaged, I wonder if he would have done the same thing to me. Or maybe it’s because I was so damaged that he didn’t want to.” Yoite fell silent after that, breathing softly.

Miharu pushed back from his embrace, meeting Yoite’s blue eyes. “Why would you tell me that?” he whispered.

Yoite fingered a strand of Miharu’s dark hair. “I just… wanted you to know.”

“But why?” Miharu asked again.

Yoite shook his head. 

Their faces were so close that their breath mingled warmly. Miharu’s body was thin and light, so warm where he was pressed against Yoite’s side, and Yoite pulled him closer. For a moment, Miharu almost looked like he was going to lift his chin and kiss Yoite. But then, Yoite broke into a fit of coughing and hacking that reminded them of exactly how all this had happened. 

“Ugh,” Yoite grumbled. “I hate flu season.”

Miharu wiped his face with his sleeves, smiling thinly. “Everyone does. Let’s go home. I’ll make you something to eat.”

Yoite nodded. “That’d be nice.”

…

After that, Miharu seemed to come to some kind of understanding that regardless of what he had been through, he could be a different person—just like Yoite had. He stopped using his body like a tool or a weapon. He started to come out of his shell, dropping the curtain of seduction and bruises, revealing a personality that was painstakingly sweet and caring. 

Yoite kept Miharu close, protecting him, watching over him, as Yukimi had once done for Yoite. They were nearly inseparable.

People started talking about them in whispers, speculations and rumors. (Yoite learned that most of the school already knew that Miharu leaned a little more towards other boys than he did towards girls. Oddly enough, no one seemed to mind.) Eventually, the gossip solidified into a story that Yoite and Miharu were lovers. 

Miharu wasn’t sure when he decided that he liked the idea of that.

Yoite wasn’t certain exactly when that stopped bothering him.

X X X

Next chapter will be the last one and it will pretty much all relationship (and lemon).

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	4. Sun Showers

This is perhaps the longest lemon I have ever written… And maybe the most graphic…

X X X

Ever since the rumor mill had settled, Yoite had started looking at Miharu differently. Sometimes when Miharu was moving around the house or playing with the dog, Yoite would catch himself looking at the boy’s pale skin or bright eyes. He imagined running his fingers through Miharu’s soft dark hair, touching his warm skin, feeling him tremble. It was weird though, because Yoite had never considered himself gay. He could look at girls just as he looked at Miharu and fantasize about them just as easily.

But Miharu was standing at the refrigerator in jeans and a t-shirt, drinking sweet tea and eating chocolates, and Yoite couldn’t help but watch the flash of his throat as he swallowed. Miharu looked over at him and smiled. All Yoite could suddenly think was how small Miharu’s mouth was and how soft his lips looked. What would they feel like pressed against his?

“Yoite?” Miharu asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing.”

“You were staring at me.”

“You had a little chocolate on your lip.”

“Really? Where?” Miharu asked, running his tongue over his lips sensuously. 

Yoite tore his eyes away. “You got it.”

It was at times like that when Miharu could feel Yoite’s eyes and tried to purposefully look more appealing, but it felt harder than he remembered. Yoite always watched him closely, his blue eyes like the ocean. Sometimes, when they were sitting on the couch together, Miharu would press close and Yoite would put his arm around his shoulders. He never denied Miharu any kind of contact, touching him gently, helping him heal from everything that had ever harmed him. 

It was surprisingly easy for Miharu to be with Yoite. Maybe it was because they were kindred spirits—both hurt deeply in very different ways.

Miharu could drape himself across Yoite’s lap without ever fearing that Yoite would do anything he didn’t want. Sometimes, Yoite’s eyes would darken with desire and his fingers would brush the little exposed strip of skin between the hem of Miharu’s t-shirt and the waistband of his jeans. But Yoite never made a move. He was too patient, too kind, too sweet. Miharu was sure that was because he had been raped so many times and Yoite didn’t want to pressure him. But Miharu had been with enough people to know when there was something he wanted versus something he didn’t. 

Either way, Miharu didn’t like waiting around for other people to decide things for him. He wanted to feel Yoite’s lips, feel his hands, feel what it was like to be with someone simply because he wanted to and he could. He was tired of waiting. So, he took matters into his own hands. 

“Yoite?” Miharu asked on a rainy night, putting himself between Yoite and the television.

Yoite looked away from the cheap slasher film. “Yeah?”

“Do you like me?”

Yoite stared at him a moment before answering, “Of course I do.”

“Not like that,” Miharu said impatiently. “You know what I mean. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

Yoite wet his lips and looked aside nervously.

Miharu drew a little closer, his fingers just brushing Yoite’s knees. A nervous flush crept up his cheeks as he confessed, “I… I like you…”

Yoite pulled Miharu close, embracing him as he usually did. “Miharu, I… I don’t know,” he murmured. “I never really thought I was gay.”

“Neither did I,” Miharu whispered. “But you… I want… Can I…?”

Yoite met his eyes.

“Can I… convince you?”

“I’m not sure that’s—”

“Please?”

“Miharu.” Yoite slid his hand into Miharu’s hair and found that the tresses were as soft as they looked. 

Miharu leaned into the touch, his eyes closing. “Please,” he said softly. “This is… something I want.”

“You’re sure?” Yoite whispered. “This isn’t because of anything else?”

Miharu shook his head. 

“I don’t know,” Yoite murmured.

“Please,” Miharu repeated. “At least, let me show you what it would be like to be with me. Then you can decide if you… like it…”

Yoite didn’t protest as Miharu turned off the television and took him by the hand. Miharu was smiling, truly happy, as he led Yoite down the hall to his room. He shooed out the dog, closed the door, and turned on his desk lamp. A few items were lying on the desk amid pencils and homework. Yoite swallowed, suddenly uncertain. All he could think about what how Hattori had taken Miharu against the steering wheel and the little sounds of pain Miharu made. He never wanted to see Miharu like that again.

“Don’t worry,” Miharu said softly, pressing himself against Yoite’s chest. “I won’t do anything I don’t want to.” Then, he peeled off his t-shirt and dropped it. 

The first thing Yoite thought was that Miharu was beautiful. He had seen him naked before, but he had been covered in bruises then. Now, his body had healed and his skin was a perfect shade of porcelain. He was lightly toned with muscles, but still as thin and frail as any girl. Miharu gently pushed Yoite down to sit in his desk chair.

“Do you like me?” Miharu asked again.

Yoite could only nod.

Miharu unfastened his jeans and shimmied out of them. He was wearing boxers patterned with little devils, dark against his pale skin, and Yoite pried his eyes away. Miharu rid himself of his underwear, kicking them aside. Completely naked, he stood before Yoite for just a moment. He smiled, his thin hands fluttering against his hips. Miharu lay back on his neatly-made bed, parting his legs slowly, exposing everything. He was pale, virtually hairless, with a few scars peppering his white skin.

“Miharu,” Yoite began. The scars were old, but still painful-looking. 

But then Miharu reached for the bottle of lubricant on his desk, squeezed some onto his hands, and dipped his fingers against his puckered hole. He moaned, softly, wantonly, in a way that made Yoite cringe as much as it made him want to hear more. Miharu glanced at him through his lashes, flushed and smiling. His fingers disappeared inside his body and Yoite’s pants were suddenly much too tight. His toes curled with pleasure as he pushed inside himself.

“I’m tight,” Miharu whispered. 

Even though some distant part of his brain wanted to look away, Yoite just couldn’t. He stared, rapt, as Miharu began to work his fingers in and out of his body. His white chest heaved, shadows cast across his ribs by the glow of the lamp. He moaned softly and his small member quivered, rising slightly.

“Do you want to feel inside me?” Miharu asked, his voice a soft purr.

Yoite couldn’t move, neither to decline or accept.

“That’s okay,” Miharu whispered, his cheeks flushing. “I can use something on myself.” He had taken a small bottle of sample shampoo from the bathroom and now slipped it into his mouth, licking it sensuously until it was slick and shining. He made a little eager sound in his chest. 

Yoite found his hands going to the front of his jeans, pressing there. His member was pulsing with a second heartbeat, hungry and aroused from watching Miharu. (1) The boy really was beautiful to look at—so pale and fair with long thin limbs and dusky nipples. Watching him open like a flower was even more arousing than Yoite could have imagined. Girls could be ready in a moment, but this… this was so much more. Miharu was preparing himself and opening just for Yoite, only for him. Somehow, it was the most intimate thing in the world.

Miharu pressed the shining little bottle to his opening and pushed it slowly inside. His eyelids fluttered and he let out a little moan, tipping his head back. Goosebumps broke out all over his body, raising his nipples into little peaks that begged to be touched. 

“It’s cold inside me,” he whispered.

Yoite just stared, captivated, as Miharu began to thrust the little bottle in and out of his body. His thighs quivered with pleasure and his toes curled against the coverlet. His hips lifted from the mattress, small member bobbing slightly as he thrust wantonly against an invisible lover. Yoite’s mouth went dry and his jeans became as constricting as a chastity belt. He almost whimpered in near-pain, watching as the bottle disappeared deep into Miharu’s body.

Then, Miharu cast the small object aside and took a second bottle from his desk. Again, he squeezed lubricant onto his fingers and delved into himself, spreading his muscles open like flower petals. Then, he fit the second bottle inside himself, moaning as the strange oblong shape stretched him in a new way. 

“And like this,” Miharu angled the bottle within himself, brushing a secret bundle of nerves deep inside his body. He moaned, mouth opening softly. “This is my… ah…” His entire body trembled, quivering with pleasure and heat. 

Yoite couldn’t just watch any longer. He rose from the chair and closed the space between himself and Miharu. He smiled up at Yoite immediately, stretching out his arms to wrap eagerly around Yoite’s shoulders and tangling his fingers in his dark tresses. He pulled Yoite close, his breath sweet and hot between them. But just before their lips touched, Yoite pulled away slightly.

“Are you sure?” Yoite breathed out.

Miharu nodded, tongue snaking out to wet his lips. 

Their lips folded together, kissing deeply for the very first time. Some small part of Yoite insisted that a first kiss should have come far sooner than this—should have come long before Miharu was lying beneath him with his legs spread and something pushed deep within his body. Miharu’s kiss was painfully experienced, parting Yoite’s lips easily and delving in expertly. He pressed the tip of his tongue just behind Yoite’s teeth and a little sound of pleasure escaped Yoite. 

He wrapped his arms around Miharu’s naked back, pulling him close. Yoite’s hands slid lower, cupping Miharu’s behind, and his fingers grazed the bottle lightly, causing Miharu to gasp out in pleasure against Yoite’s lips. His narrow hips lifted, grinding wantonly against Yoite’s rough too-tight jeans. Miharu’s hands slid beneath Yoite’s shirt and they broke the kiss long enough for Yoite to peel it off. Miharu immediately ran his hands down Yoite’s white skin, his fingertips ghosting over his nipples.

Yoite gasped, his back arching into Miharu’s touch, pressing their naked skin flush together. Miharu fumbled at Yoite’s jeans, freeing him from the painful constriction, and cupped him through his boxers. Yoite moaned quietly, never having felt a touch beyond his own, and Miharu was more than experienced. He slipped his hand into the slit and teased the swollen head of Yoite’s member, feeling the slick precum and the sensitive underside. 

Yoite shivered, his concentration and any protests he might have had lapsing sidelong. Miharu’s member was hard against Yoite’s lower belly and then his legs were coiled around Yoite’s hips. Yoite could feel the press of the bottle inside Miharu’s body and was surprised by the urge he had to take it and began thrusting it into Miharu’s tight passage. Before he could, Miharu pulled down his boxers and tossed them aside. Completely naked, the two pressed together. 

Miharu made a soft sound, curling tightly against Yoite’s bare chest. His fingertips ran down the curve of Yoite’s ribs, ghosting over his soft skin, clinging to him. “You’re so warm,” Miharu moaned. 

“Are you cold?” Yoite asked, running his hand down Miharu’s back and stopping just above the swell of his rear.

Miharu shook his head and his hair was like silk on Yoite’s bare skin. “I’m fine,” he whispered.

Then, Miharu slid his thigh over Yoite’s hip so that their members were pressed together lightly. He wrapped his thin fingers around both of them, stroking them together. Yoite trembled, shuddering, at the feeling of being touched so intimately. Miharu’s thumb ghosted over the moist head of him, applying just enough pressure to make him want to beg for something. The speed and tightness of the strokes increased, bringing Yoite towards the peak.

Then, almost suddenly, Miharu was feathering kisses all along his chest and then his breath was hot against Yoite’s member. He engulfed Yoite in his mouth, tongue expertly lapping along the underside in time with the motions of his hands. Yoite’s hands tangled desperately in Miharu’s dark hair, anchoring himself in the ocean of pleasure that crashed over him. Miharu’s efforts increased. He drew back to the tip, tongue lavishing around the sensitive head while his fingers massaged the base.

Yoite clung to Miharu’s hair, tugging desperately. For a moment, he thought Miharu struggled against the pressure of Yoite’s hands on his head and was about to let go completely, but it lasted such a short time that Yoite wondered if he had imagined it. A moment later, Miharu inhaled deeply through his nose and then took Yoite deeper and deeper into his mouth. Yoite felt the walls of Miharu’s throat, hot and close around the head of his member.

Then, there was an explosion of white light and stars. Yoite felt the ripple of Miharu’s throat as he swallowed everything. Miharu held Yoite in his throat for a moment, allowing Yoite to ride out the final waves of his orgasm, before drawing back slowly. He coughed, pressing a hand to his mouth, and then cleaned all the lingering semen away with his tongue. Yoite watched through his lashes and it was by far the most erotic sight he had ever seen.

Miharu straightened slightly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His cheeks were flushed, his green eyes were bright, and his hair was wildly tousled. Even so, he looked so beautiful that Yoite just wanted to kiss him. He reached up, his fingers sliding along Miharu’s cheeks, and pulled him close. For a moment, Miharu allowed this, but then he sharply pulled away, wiping his mouth again.

“Don’t, Yoite,” he said softly. 

“What? Why?” Yoite whispered.

“You’ll… taste it…”

A little flush crept up Yoite’s neck at the thought of tasting himself in Miharu’s mouth. He was about to agree with Miharu when he saw the boy wipe his mouth again, scrubbing roughly with the back of his hand. Miharu looked pale in the light of the desk lamp and his eyes were shadowed at the edges. Yoite suddenly thought that there was far more behind this than just the taste.

“Miharu?” he whispered.

Miharu glanced at him, pushing his hair back and angling his shoulders appealingly. “Yeah?”

But Yoite tucked his fingers through Miharu’s hair again and pulled him close. “What’s this about? Tell me.”

Miharu flinched, so slightly that it was more like a shiver, but Yoite saw it regardless. In an attempt to cover his flinch, Miharu tried to guide Yoite’s fingers to the bottle inside his body, saying silkily, “Wouldn’t you rather—?”

“Tell me, Miharu. I care about you. I want to know,” Yoite insisted. He traced the pulse of Miharu’s throat. “I saw you flinch just now.”

Miharu let out an unsteady breath. “It’s stupid,” he said.

“Tell me.”

“Back when I was on the street, my old man had beaten me and left me naked on the corner. It was cold and I was beat all to hell. This middle aged guy picked me up and he was… really nice to me,” Miharu confessed. “He bought me some hot coffee even before he fucked me and turned the heat up in his car. I… I wanted to repay him so I…”

Yoite pulled Miharu closer, warming him with the soft brush of his hands as if the memory of such bitter cold could chill him now.

“He started kissing me, but before we got down to it, I… I gave him a blow job. When I finished, I moved up to kiss him again because it had felt so nice, but when I tried to he…” Miharu’s voice cracked like ice when liquor was poured over it. “He hit me. He told me that he didn’t want to taste himself and everyone else I had blown that night.”

Yoite tucked his fingers under Miharu’s chin and lifted his head slightly. Miharu met his eyes, knowing what Yoite was planning even before he kissed him. Yoite held nothing back. He kissed Miharu just as deeply and just as passionately as before. He could taste the salt of his own semen in Miharu’s mouth, but it didn’t matter. If Miharu could taste it, then so could he. When they broke for air, there was true gratitude and love in Miharu’s green eyes.

“Yoite,” he whispered.

But Yoite smiled and then snaked his hand between Miharu’s legs. He indulged himself, gripping the small oblong bottle and thrusting it slightly into Miharu’s body. Miharu cried out, his back arching and his hands clutching Yoite’s bare shoulders like a lifeline. 

“Ah, that feels so… so good,” Miharu gasped out.

Yoite felt a little shiver go up his spine. Somehow, he wanted to hear Miharu say more of those things, but he also didn’t want to hear Miharu talking like that. That was the voice Miharu had used with Hattori, had used on the street—it was his prostitute voice, wanton and sultry—but there was none of the pain or dislike in it now. It was just a habit of Miharu’s. It was an old bad habit.

“Please, do it to me… harder, deeper…”

“Miharu,” Yoite whispered against the shell of his ear.

“Ah!” Miharu gasped. 

Miharu’s small swollen member was still standing, erect and straining, between their bodies. Yoite curled his fingers around it, stroking in what he hoped was the same way Miharu had. He wasn’t as experienced as Miharu was, but he still had this under control. He began to time his thrusts of the small bottle in time with the stroke of his hand. Miharu began to come undone, sweat beading on his shoulders and goose bumps breaking out all over his chest. 

“Y-Yoite,” he whimpered. “That’s… ah! Please, deeper…”

It took only a few more strokes to bring Miharu cascading over the edge, strands of pearly semen splattering on their naked chests. Yoite tugged the bottle from Miharu’s body and set it aside with the smaller one, cradling Miharu as he panted for breath. Then, curiously, Yoite leaned down to lick a bit of seed that had gathered on Miharu’s cheek. 

“Yoite, don’t… That’s dirty,” Miharu whispered.

Yoite stroked back Miharu’s damp hair. “If you can taste it, so can I.”

Miharu smiled slightly, gratefully, and Yoite moved to lay down beside Miharu. He figured that was the end of their little experiment. They had both orgasmed, after all, but Miharu rose from the bed and went to his desk again. He picked up the only remaining object and glanced over his shoulder at Yoite with a slight flush on his cheeks. It was a cucumber, plain and simple, if not a little smaller than average. 

“Are we having a snack?” Yoite asked, watching the sway of Miharu’s hips.

Miharu laughed softly. “No,” he said with a smile. Then, he picked up the bottle of lubricant again and squeezed a generous amount all over the long vegetable.

Yoite’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to…?”

Miharu’s smile was sexy and eager. “I am. You can’t expect me to take you without preparation, can you?”

Yoite flushed, glancing down at his flaccid member. He hadn’t ever thought that he was particularly well-endowed, but compared to Miharu’s small member and body, he supposed he was. The thought of Miharu filling his body with that cold shaft and then taking Yoite sent a fresh wave of arousal spiking right to his core.

“I… I can’t,” Yoite protested. “Not so soon. I’ll…”

Miharu silenced Yoite with a kiss. “Trust me. You will. Just… watch me.” 

Yoite moved aside on the bed, making space for Miharu to drape himself across the coverlet. Miharu put his back against the pillows, facing Yoite at the foot of the bed, and spread his legs. Then, he pressed the smooth shaft of the cucumber against his opening. He winced, letting out his breath slowly, and pressed it into his body. Yoite wanted to protest, to tell Miharu not to hurt himself, but the sight was so erotic that he couldn’t find his mouth, nevertheless form words.

“It’s so cold,” Miharu whispered with a little breathy laugh. “Maybe I should have taken it out of the fridge sooner.”

Miharu moaned softly as the cucumber breeched his body, spreading him open and spearing in deep. The lubricant made the going far easier and, in a surprisingly short period of time, Miharu had pushed a few inches of the vegetable into himself. He thrust those few inches rapidly, his chest heaving and little moans escaping. Yoite could only stare, captivated, watching the green shaft appear and disappear into Miharu’s body. His member twitched with interest, hardening again.

Miharu grinned, watching Yoite’s reactions through the veil of his lashes. “I told you,” he purred.

Yoite flushed deeply.

Then, Miharu pushed the cucumber completely into his body, leaving only a short inch sticking out. He moaned as it filled him, whimpering in pleasure, his toes curling. Yoite’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. How could something so long fit into Miharu’s small body. Miharu rose onto his knees and came to straddle Yoite’s lap, guiding Yoite’s hand between his legs. He let the cucumber slide out of his body, pressing into the palm of Yoite’s hand, and then ground down against it.

Yoite gasped, feeling Miharu’s body shudder against him as the shaft of the cucumber filled him. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering closed, as he moaned. Yoite could only imagine what it would be like to take the cucumber’s place, feeling Miharu’s body convulse around him, feeling that insane moist heat. But most of all, he wanted to be the one making Miharu shiver in pleasure. He wanted to make him feel good, not some piece of vegetation. 

“Yoite,” Miharu whispered. “Are you jealous of a vegetable?”

Yoite refused to answer that. Instead, he gripped the cucumber by the base and thrust it deep into Miharu. The boy gasped again, throwing his head back in a cascade of dark ringlets, and moaned loudly. Yoite closed his mouth over Miharu’s throat, feathering kisses and licks all over the sensitive skin. Miharu shuddered in delight and Yoite let the cucumber slide out before pressing it deep again. Then, Miharu’s fingers wrapped around Yoite’s member and he realized he was hard again.

“Ready?” Miharu whispered into Yoite’s shoulder.

Yoite felt himself nod, even if he wasn’t certain.

Miharu batted Yoite’s hand away and let the cucumber slide out of his body, casting it aside with all the other toys he had used on his body already. Then, he took a condom from the nightstand drawer and tore it open with his teeth.

“Miharu, why a…?” Yoite began, but he flushed as Miharu stroked it down over his erection.

“Just in case,” Miharu said softly.

“In case of what?” 

“I haven’t… had a chance to go to a clinic and get checked out. If I… have something… I don’t want to give it to you,” Miharu murmured.

Yoite stared at him for a moment, stricken. He had never thought about everything Miharu’s body had gone through and what effects still lingered inside him. All he had been thinking about was healing Miharu’s mind and heart, but… maybe the body was nothing compared to that. 

“Is that okay?” Miharu whispered.

Yoite could only nod.

Miharu kissed him lightly and squeezed a generous amount of lubricant onto Yoite’s member, stroking it all down the length. “Are you ready?”

“Are you?” Yoite asked.

Miharu smiled, his eyes bright with desire. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

Then, he guided Yoite to the core of his body and lowered himself slowly down. Yoite threw his head back, his eyes fluttering closed, and a soft moan escaped his lips. Miharu’s body was so tight and hot. It was like nothing Yoite had ever felt before. Miharu slid down further, taking him to the hilt, and then he clenched his muscles tight. Yoite nearly came just then, but Miharu hushed him and kissed him as they both adjusted to the feeling of each other.

Finally, Miharu rocked his hips experimentally and when Yoite didn’t immediately lose it, he began to move in earnest. He lifted himself slowly and then slid back down to the base, rotating his hips in a motion that made Yoite fairly certain that the world was square. He could only hold Miharu’s hips, watching the beautiful boy ride him. Yoite wasn’t exactly sure when he gained the presence of mind to begin meeting Miharu thrust for thrust, but soon he was pounding into Miharu.

Miharu threw his head back, moaning and speaking in his dirty voice. “Oh yes, deeper, harder. Please, Yoite, fuck me.”

Yoite wrapped his fingers around Miharu’s member and pumped it. He wanted to tell Miharu to stop talking like that, but some small part of his brain liked hearing those words. Miharu shuddered, his entire body doubling against Yoite’s chest in pleasure. The stream of foul language choked off, ending in just a breathy sigh of delight, and Yoite decided he liked hearing that much more. He tried to rub against that place inside Miharu that made him forget he had ever been used.

Miharu opened his mouth to speak, but the words vanished as Yoite moved within him with tenderness he had never felt before. Yoite’s every move was velvet, soft, and sweet. He was making sure Miharu enjoyed this and not just for his own pleasure. Miharu had a feeling that even if Yoite was using the cucumber to fuck him, he would have been just as gentle. Miharu could suddenly only cling to Yoite’s bare shoulders, breathing hard.

Feeling Miharu crumple against him, Yoite took over. He wrapped his arms around Miharu and lay him down against the coverlet. Miharu’s hands lay above his head, his naked chest heaving for breath, and he smiled silkily up at Yoite. Yoite continued to thrust, but the new angle gave him the perfect alignment to rub against Miharu’s secret nerves. The boy shivered, his entire body wracking with pleasure, and a little sound that might have once been Yoite’s name escaped his lips.

Yoite took Miharu’s hand in his and saw scars circling Miharu’s narrow wrists. Lightly, he pressed his lips to the scars. Miharu gazed up at him, dazed and delighted. He had never been treated like this, like he was delicate and loved, in his entire life. When it came to sex, Miharu was an expert, but he was virgin when it came to making love. He moaned softly, curling his arms around Yoite’s back, as Yoite thrust particularly deep inside him. 

Now that Miharu had stopped speaking like a prostitute, Yoite could abandon himself into just feeling. He knew Miharu was enjoying it and he wanted to make him fly. He began to stroke Miharu’s small member in time with his deep thrusts, prying little half-formed sounds of delight from his throat. His eyes fluttered closed, lashes like twin dark fans against his pale cheeks. Yoite leaned down and kissed him, pouring all the love he felt for Miharu into the kiss.

Miharu came without warning, spilling hot into Yoite’s hand. His entire body convulsed with the pleasure, his muscles clamping down around Yoite’s member tightly and dragging Yoite over the knife’s edge of orgasm. Yoite collapsed beside Miharu, gathering him up in his arms and breathing him in while he softened inside Miharu’s body. The feeling of being held afterwards was alien to Miharu and he looked into Yoite’s face.

Yoite brushed a lock of hair from Miharu’s eyes, looking down at him adoringly. 

“Y-Yoite,” Miharu whispered, his fingers curling against Yoite’s bare skin.

Yoite only kissed him and that was answer enough to anything Miharu had planned to say. 

Miharu nestled deeply into Yoite’s embrace, his heart beating slowing as he relaxed.

Outside the Miharu’s bedroom window, it began to rain softly. The drops pattered against the glass like fingers tapping out a light beat on a piano. Usually, Miharu hated the cold rain, but he found that now that he didn’t have to stand out on the corner nearly-naked and selling his body, he actually liked the sound of the storm. Behind the glass and wrapped in Yoite’s arms, he was safe. When Yoite ran his fingers softly through Miharu’s hair, he decided that he might even like the rain.

X X X

(1) The following note contains mild spoilers. (Read at your own risk.) In the manga, Yoite is an intersexed character which means his genitalia it not specific to either gender. Though I feel that this is important to his character, I will not be including it in this story.

Drop me a **REVIEW!** Let me know what you thought of this story! (I feel like it was pretty weird, especially with this entire last chapter being just straight smut.)

Please, check out my first ORIGINAL NOVEL! **The Breaking of Poisonwood by Paradise Avenger.** (Summary: People were dead. When Skye Davis bought me at a slave auction as a birthday present for his brother, I had no idea what my new life was going to be like, but I had never expected this. It all started when Venus de Luna was killed and I was to take her place, to become the new savior… Then, bad things happened and some people died. In the heart of the earth, we discovered the ancient being that Frank Davis had found and created and used to his advantage. The Poisonwood—)

Questions, comments, concerns?

**REVIEW!**


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